


Exercises in Free Love

by ellipeps



Series: Exercises in Free Love [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - University, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Humor, Loss of Virginity, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Slow Build, a lot of talking about Bond, it just came out that way (sorry), mentions of bullying, mentions of self-harm and suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:23:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2181273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipeps/pseuds/ellipeps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester had it all in high school, the friends, the girls, the parties. Castiel didn't. All he had was a crush doomed to break him. When they meet five years after graduation Dean is desperate to make amends, but can Castiel forgive him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, none of the characters, movies, books, songs used and/or referenced. All cred goes to the creators of Supernatural, to the creators of Buffy, Bond and the composers and writers of the songs and books.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black is the color of the hidden, the secretive and the unknown, creating an air of mystery. It keeps things bottled up inside, hidden from the world.

Poetry meetings aren’t Dean’s thing. At all. But his brother is only home for one week and this is what the nerd wanted to do, so here they are. Crammed together with at least thirty others in an old dusty book shop, listening to readings of old classics or explosive original work by the regulars. The only poem that Dean had liked so far was a limerick about beer, written by the very special Ash, who completed his mullet with a red cape.

Now, on the other hand, the stage is occupied by a young man, not much older than Dean, dressed in a suit, the blue tie backwards, and a beige trench coat. The guy looks nervous and fiddles with his sleeves, before dragging his hands through his already disheveled dark hair, the movement seems to come so easily Dean suspects the guy must do it several times a day. Not that he is complaining, he likes his men a bit rough around the edges.

“Cas, the stage is yours,” Chuck, the owner of the place, says from the shadows and the man on the stage, Cas apparently, looks up, frowning when the sharp light from the spotlights hits his eyes. It’s absolutely adorable, and that isn’t something Dean just throws around like candy, it’s reserved for like, bunnies and kittens and shit like that. And only when Sam is far, far away.

“Hello, um, my name is Castiel,” the man, Cas, Castiel, says and holy mother of all things sinful, his voice is to die for. Or kill for, whatever way the saying goes. Rough, gravelly, and freaking hot. Dean almost chokes on his beer, earning a glare from Sam as he coughs and shrugs apologetically, when he hears it.

“I’m-, um, I’m going to read a- a poem that I wrote some years ago, as I went through a tough time. It’s called Black Wings and Black Feathers,” Castiel continues, stuttering and still squinting. Perhaps he always looks like that, like a confused kitten. Or whatever. Not that Dean knows. He does absolutely not watch videos with cute kittens when he’s upset, not at all. Who does that except for kids? Anyway, all his attention is now focused on the man standing just a few feet away on the stage, who’s looking so nervous he might throw up. Dean can sympathize, he’s a great flirt, but put him in front of more than three people and he becomes a stuttering mess.

“Black wings and black feathers,” Castiel begins, and as he utters the single sentence his whole being changes. He straightens up and stops squinting, revealing amazing blue eyes. His voice carries through the room even without a microphone, firm and somehow even deeper than before. Dean is amazed.

_“Black wings with black feathers fluttering in the wind whipped up by thousands of leaves, moving, heaving, stretching. Black wings with black feathers rising towards a grey sky, reaching, wanting, longing. Black wings with black feathers, shiny, strong, elegant. Black wings with black feathers falling down, raining down, meeting brown leaves on the cold ground. Black wings without black feathers, crumbling to pieces, slumping, breaking. Black wings without black feathers lying on the ground, crying for the sky. Black wings and black feathers disappearing down, sinking, dying. Blue eyes and bloody hands reaching for black wings and black feathers, finding nothing. Tears falling from blue eyes onto bloody hands, screaming out in sorrow, screaming out loss. Black wings with black feathers, nothing more than dust in the wind.”_

The whole room is silent for minutes, no one dares even applause when Castiel finishes. The moment he turns silent he regains his awkwardness and shyness and looks down at his feet. Dean hears Sam whisper something, but he really can’t focus on anything other than Castiel. He just wants to jump up on the stage and hug the man, comfort him. The poem felt so personal, so intimate, that Dean almost feels like he shouldn’t have heard it. It feels like he has read someone’s diary.

When someone coughs Castiel snaps his head up and for a second their eyes meet, green drowning in teary blue, before the man in the trench coat excuses himself and walks in behind the curtains on the stage, disappearing before Dean can ever react. Somehow he feels as if they have met before, but he disregards it as a reaction to the intimacy of the poem. He sighs and turns to Sam, who eyes him, but says nothing.

“So, now we have heard all of our scheduled writers and performers for the night,” he hears Chuck say, mind still on Castiel. “It’s now time for the open stage, if anyone has something to share,” the voice continues, a tired voice, sounding like late nights and bottles of whiskey. He feels Sam bump into him, so he turns to glare at Sam the second he sees his brother raise his hand. What, does Sam write poetry? That’s a new one. Apparently college does that to people. Change them or whatever.

“Yes?” Chuck says, pointing at Sam.

“I- I don’t have anything, but I think my brother does,” Sam says. That bitch. Dean doesn’t know jack shit about this. He thinks he might be able to recite the first two lines of Blake’s ‘The Tyger’, but that’s about it. Sam nudges at him, pushing him towards the stage. He tries damn hard to push back, but damn, the kid is strong. When did that happen? Another college thing probably.

“What’s your name, kid?” Chuck asks and looks expectantly at Dean, who tries his best not to look freaked out by the attention.

“Dean, Dean Winchester,” he answers, blushing when a girl with red hair wolf whistles at him. On stage he can’t even try to be his usual self, the nervousness taking over. School had been hell. No matter the amount of time preparing for speeches or presentations, he always felt like crap, blush spreading like a wild fire and heart racing. Nothing bad ever happened, he even got good grades on all the presentations he did. But he felt like he was drowning every time he had to do it. Something his bitch of a brother knows, and probably why he’s now forcing Dean to ‘face his fears’ or some other bullshit.

“So, Dean, what you got for us?” Chuck says, putting an arm on his shoulder that’s probably supposed to be calming, but it’s failing miserably. Dean’s mind is working hard, what can he do? Improvise? No, he can’t even give someone a good, snappy comeback. They always turn out something like ‘You can be *insert previous insult*’ or ‘Well- *insert stuttering and mumbling*’ or something else just as embarrassing.

“Do you have a guitar?” he finally asks when the answer comes to mind, striking him as lightning.

“Yes, sure,” Chuck answers, “Charlie, can you go find my old acoustic?” he continues, speaking to the wolf-whistler. She comes back minutes later when Dean is positioned on a high stool, guitar in hand. She hands it to Dean and whispers a good luck before taking her previous place.

“This song ain’t one of mine. But it came to mind when I heard Cas earlier, so uhm, here you go. It’s ‘Dust in the Wind’ by Kansas,” Dean says, tuning the guitar. He begins plucking at the strings, closing his eyes and allows himself to just be, just sing and play.

It’s been a long time since he felt so secure, so comfortable, the light shining on his face, his body warming up in his black T-shirt. The only thing that’s missing is the violin, the song is so much better with it, and he doesn’t really think he does it justice, but he can’t find it in himself to care. All tensions seeps away through his fingers and out in the strings, floating out in the room as chords, mixing with his voice.

He’s really missed this. He used to play a lot when he was younger, and his mom always played for him as a kid. Dean sends a silent thanks to Sam for forcing him to do this, even if he’d never admit it.

As he finishes he opens his eyes again, only to once again meet Castiel’s blue eyes, who’s standing in the furthest corner of the room, eyes firmly locked on him, narrow and focused. He blushes and waves thanks at the applause he gets before rushing of the stage as he sees Castiel turn and walk out the door.

Dean hurries after him, ignoring Sam’s shout and the pats on his back. When he’s finally outside he collides with a tan trench coat.

“Shit, I’m- sorry, I-“ he begins, but then Castiel turns around and he falls silent, the words he was about to say already forgotten. The other man is looking at him with something akin to awe in his eyes, and is smiling. It looks like a sad smile, as if he’s already regretting something.

“Hello, Dean, I’m Castiel,” the man says and holds his hand out in between their bodies, still standing too close to be considered normal behavior. Dean shakes it and smiles back.

“I know,” he says, and adds, “you were great in there. This isn’t usually my things, but that, that was fantastic.” Castiel smiles, looking a bit happier, but he frowns a bit and tilts his head to one side, once again looking like a cat.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and Dean revels in the sound of his voice. He wonders how it sounds moaning his name, regardless of how inappropriate that may be. “You weren’t too bad yourself,” Castiel adds, thumb on Dean’s hand moving around in circles.

“Yeah?” Dean hums, leaning in to brush his lips against Castiel’s. Castiel sighs and nods, nose bumping against Dean’s. Castiel breaks the kiss and pushes Dean away, glaring angrily at the ground, and then at Dean.

“I’m sorry if I assumed-“ Dean begins but Castiel shuts him off.

“Do you know how long I have waited for this?” Castiel exclaims, throwing his arms out gesturing at the confused man in front of him. Dean has no idea whatsoever what Castiel is talking about. What, had he been waiting for Dean to kiss him? Or just someone? He doesn’t know what to do so he just shakes his head. Castiel lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You really don’t remember?” Castiel asks and Dean shakes his head again. Had they met before? Dean begins digging through his memories after something, someplace they could have met and when he realizes he gaps.

“Oh shit,” he swears, looking back at the entrance to the book shop, longing to go back inside and forget all about it, forget blue eyes and sex-hair. Forget about an amazing kiss and an intense poem.

“It’s coming back now, huh? How you let your friends bully me for three years, standing by, watching, not moving a finger to help me, while at the same time you knew that I liked you. But you were the cool captain of the baseball team, straight, popular Dean. Who was I to think we could even have a possibility at a relationship? I was better off without you anyway,” Castiel almost spits out before storming away.

As Castiel spoke, memories came rushing back of Dean’s high school years.

* * *

_“Hey, fag, suck any cocks lately?” Michael calls at the scrawny kid a few lockers away, who quickly looks down at the floor from where he was staring at Dean. Dean thinks his name is Johnny or something, Jimmy perhaps? He laughs at Michael, laughs when Lucifer shoves the kid hard into his locker. Dean doesn’t care._

*

_He catches Jimmy looking at him in Chemistry, winks back before pointing it out to Raphael who begins shooting rubber bands at the kid, hitting his glasses. They laugh and Jimmy blushes, turning to read his book. After the lesson they walk out first, telling Michael and Lucifer about the looks, Jimmy walking behind them, hearing them laugh. He storms away and locks himself in the bathroom. Dean doesn’t care._

_*_

_He’s grinding up against Lisa Braeden, the hottest cheerleader, kissing at her neck when he sees Jimmy walk by. He grinds extra hard, biting lightly at Lisa’s neck, making her moan loudly from where they’re standing at the end of the empty football field, making sure Jimmy doesn’t miss the obscene sound. Jimmy’s head snaps up and he looks at Dean, hurt evident in his eyes, and then the kid is gone, probably running off to cry in the bathroom again. Dean doesn’t care._

_*_

_He bumps into Jimmy in the corridor, books flying all over the place. He wheezes a ‘Watch it, fag’ before walking to his class, leaving Jimmy on the floor, surrounded by books, pens and broken glasses. A girl with red hair and an ugly skirt, Anna, comes to his rescue, shouting after Dean. Dean doesn’t care._

_*_

_The music is loud and he is drunk. Very drunk, the Jäger Lucifer brought was really something else. He thinks he’s been here for three hours, but who knows? Lisa’s standing in a corner, looking pissed. Probably since she caught him hooking up with the hot blonde chick, but meh, who cares? Bodies are moving around him and he stumbles out into the hallway, teenagers all over the place, shouting, dancing, drinking. He needs to find a bathroom. He makes his way up the stairs and opens the first door on his left. Jimmy is sitting on the bed, eyes red from crying._

_“Hey, you ok?” he asks, a bit slurred, as he sits down next to the smaller kid. Jimmy shakes his head. Dean doesn’t know what to do; the only person he knows how to comfort is Sam._

_“You know, my real name is Castiel,” Jimmy suddenly says. Or perhaps he had been speaking for a while. Dean doesn’t really know, eyes trained on pink, chapped lips._

_“Casseel, nice,” Dean slurs, leaning in a bit too close, breathing in Jimmy’s, no Castiel’s ear, “why don’cha use it?”_

_“I- I don’t want anyone to think I’m weird, I don’t want you to think-” Castiel whispers, looking down at his hands. Dean puts a hand on his cheek, turning his head so that Castiel is looking at him._

_“I don’t think you’re weird,” Dean whispers, leaning in further, closing his eyes. Castiel’s breath hitches in disbelief. Dean feels lips moving against his and it feels amazing. He’s drunk, sure, but even through his clouded mind he feels something new sending sparks through his body, down his spine, all the way out his fingertips. Holy shit, guys are nice. Almost as good as girls. Or better? Or is it just Castiel?_

_Shocked by his thoughts he pulls away, Castiel gasping. Dean takes a moment to just look; the guy is hot, cheeks flushed, breathing heavy and eyes wide. And he looks absolutely perfect. Dammit._

_“The fuck dude?!” he yells, punching Castiel square in the face, sending him over the edge of the bed, and moves to stand. As he walks out the door he turns around to see Castiel lying on the floor, blood coming from his probably broken nose, sobbing violently in between whispers of something that could be Dean’s name. This time he’s too drunk to care, so he just shrugs and walks away._

_*_

_The following weeks he doesn’t see Jimmy anywhere. He wouldn’t even have noticed if it weren’t for Lucifer._

_“Hey, guys, what happened to that fag? He just disappeared.”_

_“I heard he tried to kill himself,” Michael whispers, turning around in his chair and leans against Dean’s and Lucifer’s table._

_“Too bad he didn’t succeed,” Raphael laughs, and Dean laughs with him. He doesn’t really care, his wet night long since forgotten, the alcohol drowning his memories, his subconscious pushing them away._

* * *

“Fucking fuck,” he almost yells before running after Castiel. He catches up with him at the end of the street, taking his arm and spinning him around.

“Let go of my arm,” Castiel says, venom in his voice, fire in his eyes. Dean drops his hand to his side, struggling with his words. The smaller man moves to leave again and Dean can do nothing but plead.

“Please, Cas, I’m sorry,” he begins, Castiel stopping, back still towards Dean, “I was a dick back then. I guess I still am. I’m really sorry for what I did to you, for what _we_ did to you.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it Dean, not this time,” Castiel says, voice dead. Dean looks around helplessly, dragging one hand over his face as he thinks, “I don’t even know why I let you talk to me in the first place,” Castiel mumbles, seemingly to himself.

“That poem, was that from high school?” Dean finally asks, remembering the heartache the felt when hearing it. Castiel nods, body shaking, as if he’s holding back tears, his breathing ragged.

“I had no idea- I didn’t think-“ Dean whispers, voice breaking. Castiel turns around to look at him, tears reflecting the cold light from the street lights over their heads.

“That was always your problem Dean, you didn’t think. Do you realize what that did to me? What _you_ did to me? I _loved_ you, for years, and you just discarded me as if I was nothing, letting your friends beat me up in alleys after school, calling me a fag, a whore, told me I shouldn’t even be allowed to live,” Castiel whispers, voice shaking with anger.

“I didn’t know,” Dean mumbles, looking away from Castiel, can’t stand the anger and hurt in those beautiful eyes.

“Does it look like I care? Look what you did to me Dean,” Castiel yells, yanking up his sleeves to show off pale scars against olive skin along his forearms, five years not long enough to make them fade away.

“Shit,” Dean says, eyes wide, can’t tear them away from the white lines. He did that. He made Castiel hurt himself, because he was too full of himself to care. He had only been eighteen at the time, but that didn’t matter, he was responsible. He felt tears stinging and throat constricting, and he had no clue what to say.

“You might say that,” Castiel laughs, a cold laugh, cutting right through Dean, “I almost died Dean, I almost fucking killed myself over you, and all you can say is ‘shit’. Well, not that I was expecting something more, not from you. Never from you.”

“Let me make it up to you,” Dean pleads, begs.

“How could _you_ possibly do that?” Castiel says, raising an eyebrow at Dean, eyes like lightning.

“I’m not the same guy anymore, I have no contact with those guys anymore, and I’m a freaking mechanic working two jobs to make sure my brother can get through pre-law on the other side of the country. I have nothing,” Dean says, forcing himself to meet Castiel’s eyes.

“Well, that’s swell, I’m sure, but this isn’t something I can just forget, Dean,” Castiel replies, crossing his arms, shivering in the cold December night.

“I- I know, and I don’t ask you to. I just- Hell, I don’t know. Had I known it was that bad- I would have done something man.”

“In hindsight, of course,” Castiel says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“No! I- I mean, I think I would have, you know?” Dean says, lowering his voice as a couple walks past, carrying bags full of gifts. He had forgotten that it was only two days left before Christmas.

“Sure…” Castiel rolls his eyes again and moves to turn away once more.

“Let me buy you coffee,” Dean exclaims, desperate to make amends.

“W- What?” Castiel splutters, eyes wide in shock.

“I- uh, I know this place. It’s quiet, we could talk,” Dean says, ignoring the flash of hope in Castiel’s eyes, he can’t even begin to think about romance now. First he must sort this out.

“Why would I want to talk with you?” Castiel sneers, squaring his shoulders, clenching his jaw.

“Please,” the larger man pleads, hoping it’ll be enough.

“Fine,” Castiel says, “but only one coffee.” Dean smiles weakly in reply and leads the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought!


	2. Gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gray is the color of compromise – being neither black nor white, it is the transition between two non-colors. It is unemotional and detached and can be indecisive.

“You know, I only dared to come out after Matt Bomer did in 2012. I figured if he could do it so could I,” Dean says, sipping his coffee slowly, eyeing Castiel over the edge of his cup.

“I don’t know who that is, but good for you,” the other replies, voice still harsh. Dean moves around in his chair, feeling more uncomfortable than he ever had. More uncomfortable than when Rhonda Hurley had made him try on her panties, which to be honest hadn’t been all that bad.

“So, uh, you got any contact with anyone?” Dean asks, swirling the spoon around in his cup. Around, around, around, losing himself in the black liquid.

“Who would that be? I had no one, Dean. I was all alone for four years.”

“Uhm,” Dean says awkwardly, internally beating himself up, “right. What are you up to these days?”

“I’m a theology major at KU,” Castiel answers, short and precise. Doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t ask Dean anything in return.

“I’m so sorry, Cas, I-“

“Save it, Dean, I’ve already heard your apologies. And do not call me _Cas_ , that’s reserved for friends only,” Castiel snaps, finally flicking his eyes up to meet Dean’s.

Shit, he can’t fix this. He’s screwed up, he’s screwed Cas up and there’s no way for him to fix it. It’s all there, hitting him like a ton of bricks, radiating from one single look. He can’t think of a single thing to say, nothing that can explain. Because, how do you explain that you didn’t care back then, you were too busy taking care of a drunk dad and a kid brother, but that you care now? You care now, because your father is dead and your brother moved out? The simple answer is that you don’t.

“You know, I’ve never had a real relationship, Dean. I didn’t go to prom, I didn’t go to any games, I never talked with anyone, ever. Because of you,” Castiel says after a few minutes, “because of you I never dared letting anyone close, or allowed myself to even believe someone might actually like me.”

Dean can’t breathe, can’t function. Thinking over and over again that this is all his fault. His fault that Castiel didn’t get to have a normal life, his fault that Castiel has missed out on so much. His fault that Castiel hasn’t allowed himself to be loved, or love.

"I don't know what to say, I-" he finally apologizes, shutting up when he sees Castiel's glare.

"That's a first," comes the snarky reply and Dean cringes. The stone growing in his stomach sinks even further, at the same time as it’s expanding upwards, pressing against his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

They sit quietly, drinking their coffee, looking at everything but each other. The ceiling needs painting, the clock is five minutes behind and the barista is chatting up the guy placing an order. Dean doesn't know what to say but staying silent isn't an option; he just can't handle awkward silence.

"My dad died a week after graduation," he says, Castiel giving no signs that he's listening, but Dean continues nonetheless.

"He was a drunk. Sometimes a mean one. After my mom died it just spiraled, but he did his best. I made sure Sam had everything he needed. And I just couldn't care about anything other than him. So when dad died I decided to skip college and just work, for Sam. I still didn't care so much about others, I guess," Dean takes a deep breath before continuing, "It wasn't until Sammy moved to California that I realized that I actually had to give a shit. I had no one."

Castiel still won't look at him, but this time at least there isn't a sharp reply. Dean sighs and rubs one hand behind his neck, something he always does when he was uncomfortable.

"You still do that," Castiel says, eyes tracing Dean's movement, "you always did that in school when it was something you had to explain or when you didn't really know what to answer." Dean stills. Castiel had really paid him a lot of attention, to know Dean's subconscious movements like that. He looks up and meets the other man's eyes, the ice in the blue almost melted, replaced by an almost warm azure, but still with steel shining through. How could he have seen those eyes before and not remember them?

Apparently he had said that out loud, because Castiel tilts his head and narrows his eyes.

"I mean- You know, your eyes are amazing, and I-" he fumbles, words tangling in his tongue, tumbling out. He blushes and looks down, afraid to face whatever reaction Castiel might have.

"Thank you, Dean," he hears the gravelly voice say, almost sounding soft now. But nope, he can't afford to think like that, to think that perhaps he's forgiven. He is ruined for Castiel, probably for the rest of his life. He looks down at his hands, picking his nails from oil and shit from the cars he's working on at Singer's.

He hears Castiel rise from his chair but still doesn't look up.

"I'm glad we talked, Dean. Goodbye," Castiel says and the world is silent until he hears the faint sound of the door closing. His head snaps up, shit, he's gone now, like really gone. Dean has so much more to say, so much more to apologize for. He can't let this go just yet. He tosses a few crumbled bills on the table and runs after a beige trench coat for the second time that night.

* * *

 

"Castiel," he yells, catching up with the smaller man after a minute, panting from the running. Castiel spins around almost collides with Dean, eyes once again on fire.

"What can I possibly say to make you understand? Leave me alone, Dean," he whispers, refraining himself from yelling, voice shaking.

"Just tell me one thing, and then I'll leave you alone, I promise," Dean says, not even blinking as pleading green meet stern blue.

"What? Tell you what?"

"Tell me you don't feel anything, nothing at all, and I'll walk away," Dean whispers, holding Castiel's gaze. The blue eyes widen, and for a moment he can see something flash in them, almost looking like affection.

"Of course I feel something, Dean. I loved you for four years, perhaps I still do, but I can't just forget, I hope you realize that," Castiel whispers back, eyes soft and begging.

"Let me get to know you, let me try again, please," Dean pleads, suddenly feeling desperate. He almost wants to reach forwards and grab the trench coat, fall to his knees and beg.

"I don't know, I-" Castiel says, sounding insecure, some of his high school appearance shining through.

"No pressure. We'll just talk and see where we end up, no dating or anything. Just talking. You can just say stop and I'll leave you alone," Dean suggests, eyes flicking to Castiel's hands, fiddling with his sleeves as he decides, "Here, take my number. Call if you want, don't if you, uh, don't."

He hands Castiel a business card from Singer's, his private number scrabbled on the back and walks away, heart beating so loudly in his chest he's sure all of Lawrence can hear it.

* * *

 

Castiel doesn’t call. A week passes and he’s all Dean can think about. He is sulking his way through Christmas and two days before New Year’s Sam sighs loudly and slams his fist on the sofa table.

“Dammit, Dean, tell me what’s going on,” he yells, Dean eyes snaps up to meet tired, young ones. His brother looks exhausted, and sad. What had he missed in Sam’s life when he was too busy bother with his own? Shit, he hadn’t just fucked things up with Castiel, now Sam was upset. This wasn’t his week.

“Please, something’s up man, I can tell,” Sam says, lowering his voice and sits down next to Dean on the couch, “you’re even crankier than usual, and I saw you after you met Cas.”

“What? Cas? Do you-? Do you know him?” Dean says, surprised that his brother knows Castiel, and not so surprised that he connected the dots so quickly. Damn genius lawyer brothers.

“Yeah, he was secretary of the student body when I worked the year book as a freshman. He’s really nice, but he has had it tough I think. Something happened during his senior year, during _your_ senior year, and he wasn’t really himself after that,” Sam mumbles, looking insecure, as if he’s not sure if it’s his place to share Castiel’s story. Dean wonders if Sam knows what really happens, but is too polite to say. Probably. Damn sensible Stanford brothers.

“Oh,” is all Dean replies, pulling of the label of his beer, tearing it into small pieces, the blue paper far too similar to ice cold eyes to keep him distracted from thinking of Castiel. Sam only hums and puts his feet up on the coffee table and his arms behind his head.

“So, uh, Sammy, what’s up with you? Hooked up with any hot sorority chicks lately?” Dean says when the label is completely gone from the bottle, nothing left but the white stripes from the glue. Sam rolls his eyes and smiles faintly. Trust Dean to cheer him up. Or piss him off. Either way works, as long as they stop talking about _Dean’s_ feelings.

“No, not exactly. Do you remember Amelia I told you about?” Sam asks and Dean digs in his mind. Amelia. Amelia. Amelia. Right, the vet-in-the-making-chick. Sam nudges him and he nods, humming a confirmation. “Well, it turns out her boyfriend came on a surprise visit just before Christmas. From Cambridge. One day he just shows up and she’s talking about leaving me for him, or leaving him for me. I don’t know man; it’s just confused right now.”

“Oh dude, that sucks,” Dean says sympathetically and hands his brother a new beer. Sam nods before gulping down half the beer in one go. It probably takes half a bottle of Jack to make Gigantor even a bit tipsy. That’s something he can experiment on during New Year’s. They both seem to be in need of a good old fashioned bender. If he can get Sam on board that is, the health freak eats nothing but like salad and organic fish. Yuck.

A vibration in his pocket interrupts his train of thoughts. One new message. Number unknown. His breath hitches and he takes another swig of his beer, finishing it off, before locking the phone again. Nope, saving that for later, when he’s alone. It can wait. If it’s even Castiel. He turns to look at Sam again, who has turned on puppy eyes numero trois, the ‘Dean, tell me what’s going on, pleaaaaase, if not I’m going to continue looking like a kicked puppy until you do’ look. Dean sighs; he knows they’ll get to him. They always do, every single damn time. Damn younger brothers with puppy eyes.

“What, Sammy? What do you want me to say? I treated him like shit for four years when he liked me, and now I like him, and he hates me. There’s nothing to do, alright?” Dean finally says, and adds quietly, “there’s nothing I can do.” Sam’s eyes soften, and he puts one of his huge hands on Dean’s shoulders. It’s actually soothing, and not feeling like everything else, weights pressing down, trapping him.

“Dean, you talked to him, right? That’s a start, I mean, it’ll perhaps be slow. But he didn’t punch you in the face,” Sam says and Dean flinches at the last words. If Sam notices, he doesn’t say. Dean huffs and digs beneath the cushions in the sofa after the remote. Dammit, why does it always do that, disappear down into the seemingly black, life sucking hole in the middle of every couch in the world. Dean isn’t irritated, not at all. He turns on the TV, volume high and zaps until he finds Seinfeld re-runs.

* * *

 

Later, when Sam has fallen asleep on the couch, snoring like a saw mill, Dean sneaks into his room and unlocks his phone again, itching to read Castiel’s message. No, he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, dammit; it might not even be him. He waits a minute, doesn’t dare to look. He finally decides to man up and checks his incoming texts.

7:58 pm (Unknown Number)   
Hello, Dean, it is Castiel. I wanted to tell you that I have been thinking. I reached the conclusion that it wouldn’t hurt to talk again. We can start with one time only, and see how it goes. When are you available?

No smileys, no emoticons, proper punctuation and no abbreviations. He doesn’t text like he speaks. The words are the same, sure, but Dean misses his voice, all the emotions simmering underneath a stern surface. Dean’s heart is racing. It worked. It actually worked. It took a damn week, but it worked. He texts back a quick reply, saying that any day the following week works. Bobby had given him an extra week off, no reason other than the old man thinks he’s going to work himself to death. If Castiel had written something else, or nothing at all, he might have actually done just that.

When he falls asleep he thinks of blue eyes and a gravelly voice, of hurt and loss, for the seventh night in a row.


	3. Turquoise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turquoise is communication and clarity of mind. It can also be impractical and idealistic.

The following Tuesday he finds himself waiting outside of Biggerson’s where they had agreed to meet. It is a place lacking personality and intimacy, perfect for what they are going to do. Talk. Talk, talk, talk. And then perhaps talk some more. Which is not Dean’s usual thing, but he takes all he can get.

Snow begins to fall as he waits and a bunch of teenagers pushes past him, into the heat, all laughing and joking. Damn, he misses Sam already. Sasquatch had flown back to California two days earlier, after giving Dean a reassuring hug, a bright smile saying ‘It’ll be fine, you’ll be fine’ and then the customary ‘Jerk’ thrown over his shoulder as he walked through security, looking back at his older brother. Dean had smiled and shouted ‘Bitch’ to the retreating back, before driving home again, moping for the reminder of the day.

“Hello Dean,” a now familiar voice says and he looks up, meeting Castiel’s eyes. It’s not until now he realizes how much he’s actually missed those eyes during this week and a half. He smiles reaches out a cold hand for Castiel to shake. The other man eyes it for a moment, before deciding that nothing bad can happen, and then he shakes it.

* * *

 

The evening is awkward to say the least. What kind of conversation do you have with the former victim of your and your friends’ bullying? Dean doesn’t know, and he realizes that it’s a lot of things he doesn’t know when it comes to Castiel, and that pisses him off. He doesn’t know what to say, how to act, how to feel. He doesn’t know a single thing about Castiel. He didn’t bother finding out in high school, and now when he’s desperate for information, the other is reluctant to share.

Nonetheless, he finds out some things as the evening progresses, Castiel is a theology major at KU (which Dean already knew, one point to Dean), but is also working part time at a retirement home for elderly with dementia. Castiel shares stories about the people there, the old man watching cartoons for hours on end, the seemingly talking cat upsetting a lot of the elderly and the lady that calls him Charles. Dean laughs, but secretly longs to hear more about Castiel himself, and not about others.

He shares his own stories, tells Castiel about Bobby at the garage, Ellen at the bar, and their constant, weird flirting with each other, making both Dean and Joanna Beth, Ellen’s daughter, nauseous. He talks about Sammy, pride in his eyes and voice as he tells Castiel that Sam got into Stanford on a full ride. Then, he talks about his father, and his mother. How he never even got to know his mother properly, and how he got to know his father all too well.

“It’s interesting how you can miss people you’ve never even met, or hardly can remember,” Castiel says after a moment of silence, Dean finished with his sharing for the night. After a confused look from Dean he continues: “I just mean, I never knew my father, he died before I was even born. I didn’t miss _him_ for a long time, I just missed the _idea_ of him.

“And then one day in high school I came across some of his old school books, from when he was in high school and university.

“I began reading them, finding his scribbles on almost every page, where he’d underlined important or funny things, writing comments such as ‘weird’, ‘important!’ or ‘compare with’ and then the name of some other book.

“Reading those books I realized that I actually missed him, I wanted to get to know _him_ , and just not have any father, I wanted _my_ father. It was his books that got me through senior year. All those days I spent at home after the, uh, incident, I spent reading his books. Sometimes I found almost like instructions on how to make an experiment better, or how to actually use a semicolon or something like that,” Castiel finishes and smiles weakly, sniveling a bit. Dean smiles back and nods.

“Yeah, I found my mom’s cook book a couple of years ago, with her own recipes. And when I found the page with her apple pie, I felt like I was four years old again. That’s when I began cooking, ignoring the frozen pizzas and fast food,” Dean says and smiles at Castiel, who actually smiles back, even if the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

* * *

 

And so it continues for another couple of months, they text; they meet; they talk; and each time they laugh a bit louder, smile a bit more honestly and stay a little while longer. Until one night.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, clasping Castiel’s shoulder in some manly greeting. Or something. He freezes when he realizes what he said and removes his slowly. He only calls him Cas when he’s thinking to himself. And when he’s talking to Sam. “I’m sorry, I mean, uh, hi, Castiel,” he mumbles, remembering what Castiel had told him about ‘Cas’ being reserved for friends only.

“It’s fine, I-, ehm, you can call me Cas if you want to,” Castiel mumbles back, but Dean hears him and his whole face lights up, smile crinkling his eyes. Dean is not under the illusion that they will ever become more than friends, but for now, being friends is all he could ever wish for.

They occupy their usual table at The Roadhouse, changing location from Biggerson’s to the Roadhouse after their third meeting, ordering their usual, one cider for Castiel and whatever’s on tap for Dean.

“So, uh, Cas,” Dean says, trying out the nickname, assuring himself it’s okay for him to use it.

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel says, tilting his head like an adorable kitten. Dammit, he’s gotta stop comparing Castiel to cats.

“I just, I wondered if you might want to come over Friday night? I’m having a Star Wars marathon, and I remember that you said you haven’t seen them, so I thought you might want to come. If you want to. I mean, you don’t have to. If you don’t want to,” Dean rambles, kicking himself internally at how completely unsmooth that was. Castiel looks unsure, frowning.

“I’m not sure, Dean, that I’m ready for something more than-“ he begins, looking down his glass instead of at Dean.

“No, no, it’s not like that. It’s not a date. Jo’ll be there, and Charlie from Chuck’s and Sam’s home with his new girlfriend Jess. So it won’t be just you and me,” Dean hurries to explain, seeing Castiel visibly relax, tense shoulders rolling back down and fingers no longer tapping against the table.

“Well, then, yes, I’d be happy to come,” Castiel says and smiles honestly, and Dean does everything he can to smile back, even if the words are stinging. Castiel is only happy to come if there are others there. He doesn’t trust Dean enough to be alone with him yet.

“Awesome,” Dean says, and he means it really, so he pushes the other feelings down, ignoring them for now. Castiel needs time and space, and Dean would be a horrible friend if he didn’t give that to him.

* * *

 

The movie night passes smoothly, Castiel bonding with Jessica over French Literature and Sammy casting looks at Dean the whole night, asking what he’s doing with Castiel. Dean even thinks something’s going on between Jo and Charlie, the looks they’re giving each other is downright dirty. Dean had returned to Chuck’s a few more times after the poetry reading, and found that Chuck was a very absent owner, Charlie the one running the place most of the time. They bonded quickly over their love of Star Wars, medieval times and Belladonna (yes, the porn star). When the two flirting chicks have left, Dean walks Castiel to the door.

“Aren’t Sam and Jessica going as well?” Castiel asks as he bends down to put on his shoes. Dean tries very hard not to look at Castiel’s ass, but it’s hard not to, and hey, he’s only human after all.

“Nope, they’re staying here for the week,” Dean answers, quickly averting his gaze when Castiel straightens up again, brushing away dust from his knees.

“I see, of course, that would be only logical,” Castiel said easily as he reaches for his trench coat behind Dean. His arm brushes against Dean’s and Dean revels in the touch, the first one he’s gotten in a long time. Since he met Castiel he’s stopped with his string of one night stands, and the only physical contact he gets now is hugs from Sam or Charlie, who turned out to be a huge hugger, although, not as bad as the receptionist at the garage, Garth. No matter how much he loves the hugs from Sam and Charlie, and on desperate days even from Garth, they don’t really cut it.

“Well, good night, young padawan,” Dean says and leans against the wall on one shoulder, watching Castiel finally putting on his trench coat. He’s surprised to say the least when he feels slender arms around his waist, gone as quickly as they came.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel whispers and leaves. Dean stands left in the hallway, unable to even think.

* * *

 

The next morning he’s what can only be described as giggly. Even Jessica notices, and she’s known Dean for a total of three days. When Sam’s cleaning up after breakfast she grabs Dean by the arm and yells to Sam that they’re going out for a walk.

“So, Dean, what’s up?” Jess says, dragging him along, walking without really having a specific destination in mind. She’s really beautiful, and smart, and she keeps Sam straight. Dean loves that she’s already a big part of Sam’s life, and thereby his, after only three months. She’s good for them both, something he concluded after the first five minutes of knowing her. And Castiel likes her, which is a plus in Dean’s book.

“Up? With me?” he asks, trying to sound as if he doesn’t understand the question. Of course he does, he’s not stupid.

“Yes, with you. You and Castiel. I saw you making doe-y eyes at him last night, and I saw how he looks at you when you’re looking the other way. So, what’s up?”

“It’s, ehm, complicated,” Dean says, kicking at a pebble by his foot, arm still locked with Jess’.

“Well, I like complicated,” she says and smiles reassuringly. Dean can’t remember what exactly she’s studying to be. Doctor perhaps? She’d make a great doctor. Or a great shrink. As far as shrinks go.

“Alright, short version? I bullied him in high school, back when he had a crush on me, and now I have a crush on him but he doesn’t trust me.”

“Oh, Dean, he trusts you,” he hears Jess say and he looks up from his feet to look at her. She’s still smiling. Perhaps she’s always smiling. Another good doctor thing.

“I talked a lot with him last night, and from what I gather you’re really close. He’s shared things with you he hasn’t shared with a lot of people, I think that’s what he said,” she continues, hugging Dean’s arm and urging him forward on their improvised path.

“He- Did he say that?” Dean’s surprised, he knows Castiel doesn’t have all that many friends, but surely he must have someone he’s closer to than Dean? Someone that’s not his cousin Gabriel?

“He sure did.”

“Oh… Well, enough about that. Now, I think it’s time for the ‘if you ever hurt my brother’-talk, don’t you think?” Dean says jokingly, only a little bit serious. He saw how devastated Sam was when Amelia left him, or, well, chose her boyfriend over him. He can’t ever risk that happening again, he and Sam’s been through enough.

“I won’t, I promise. He’s good for me, and I think that I’m good for him. He’s really something special, Dean, you should be proud,” she says and smiles again, wider than before, eyes sparkling when she talks about Sam. Dean smiles back.

“I am,” he says and they steer their way back home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos? This is all un-beta:ed, so all comments are helpful!


	4. Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green is an emotionally positive color, giving us the ability to love and nurture ourselves and others unconditionally. On the negative, the color green can be possessive and materialistic, with a need to own people and things.

Another couple of months pass, Dean calling Castiel ‘Cas’, Castiel hugging Dean hello and goodbye, movie nights twice a month and the usual dinner once a week at the Roadhouse. Dean has never been so happy in his life. He’s got everything he wants, it doesn’t even bother him anymore that Castiel isn’t interested in being something more than friends, he can live with that.

Dean is proud to call Castiel his best friend, and he’s the one, besides Sam, that Dean can share everything with. Well, almost everything with. He’s still got his one night stands on hold, he’s tried a couple of times, but he only seems to end up with blue eyed girls or men with dark bed hair, so he’s given up. He doesn’t tell Castiel that, and he doesn’t tell him that all his fantasies now include Castiel. Either hot, steamy sex, or just Castiel mindlessly combing his fingers through Dean’s hair as he reads out loud about theology or philosophy or something, Castiel cooking, Castiel newly showered, Castiel waking up in his bed, Castiel’s trench coat hanging in Dean’s hallway every single night when they fall asleep, Castiel borrowing Dean’s T-shirts and sweatpants.

Alright, so he’s not fine with it. But it’s not worth risking what they have, right? He can’t take that risk, can never forgive himself if he fucks it up. And most of all, he has to let Castiel take the first step.

Summer comes and they spend it in Bobby’s cabin outside of Sioux Falls, Dean, Castiel, Charlie, Jo, Sam and Jess, the whole gang. They swim, they walk, they talk, they do everything and nothing. They marathon all the Bond films, leading to heated discussions, like the one during Goldeneye.

* * *

 

“What do you mean Xenia Onatopp is a good character? She’s stupid, the name’s stupid, really, Charlie,” Dean says, as they’re watching Pierce Brosnan running around with girls and guns and cars, rolling his eyes at screen.

“What is there not to like? I mean, she suffocates men _with her thighs_. She’s literally crushing the patriarchy _with her thighs_.  And her name is cool. You’re welcome to say anything against her, I dare you,” Charlie replies, sulking a bit, hugging her pillow closer to her chest. Jessica chuckles and nods approvingly, even more so when Sam frowns. Castiel doesn’t seem to listen, focusing instead on Sean Bean’s Trevelyan, mumbling something about how everyone should feel sorry for him.

“Touché, but my statement still holds. Pussy Galore was the coolest one,” Dean states, winking at Jo.

“Pussy Galore and Miranda Frost. Hot, blonde kick ass chicks. Too bad you don’t have one of those, hmm?” she says and shoves at Charlie, who only sends her a glare over the edge of the pillow.

“Miranda Frost, who’s she?” Castiel says, looking expectantly at Dean, “she hasn’t been in any of the films we’ve seen.”

“Alright, Rain Man, she’s in Die Another Day, the third film after this one. There’s Tomorrow Never Dies, The World is Not Enough and then Die Another Day, Brosnan’s last. We’ll get there,” Dean explains, smiling at Castiel’s confused face.

* * *

 

When the summer has ended Dean feels like crying. It’s been perfect, he’s had his friends and family around him in a place he loves. He wants to keep the memory of a wet, shivering, perfect Castiel, just arrived from his midnight swim, in his mind and make sure he’ll never forget it. He wants to remember all their conversations during late nights when everyone else had fallen asleep, he wants to remember Castiel and Sammy joking and playing, he wants to remember Castiel smile as much as he has done during the summer. He wants to remember Castiel as a part of his family. But he still doesn’t dare making a move. All in good time. Castiel’s good time.

The spell is finally broken one late afternoon in early September, leaves beginning to turn brown, cold winds sneaking in through too thin clothes worn in the hope that there’s still some summer left, when Castiel pops into the Roadhouse just before Dean’s shift starts.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, walking around from the bar, giving Castiel a hug. He smells Castiel’s hair, he’s got a new shampoo. No, Dean isn’t stalkerish. Not at all, he just remembers things like that about the man he’s in love with. Crap. _In love with_. He hadn’t allowed himself to name his emotions towards Castiel, that makes it real.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel smiles back and shrugs out of his trench coat, placing himself by the bar.

“The usual?” Dean jokes, placing a cider in front of Castiel, who smiles a thank you.

“Dean, I came by to tell you that I can’t come tomorrow, to our movie night,” Castiel says weakly, looking down his cider.

“What? But- We’re going to marathon season one and two of Buffy, you can’t miss Buffy,” Dean exclaims, hands finding a cloth to swipe the already shining bar with. Castiel doesn’t say anything for a while, and Dean polishes until he can see the look of despair in his own eyes. Nut up, Winchester, he’s got a legit reason probably. Family, or school, or wo-

“I’ve got a date,” Castiel says, interrupting Dean’s attempts to calm himself. He stops dead in his tracks, hand stilling on the shiny bar.

“That’s, uh, that’s great, Cas,” he tries, and smiles weakly, forcing himself to look at Castiel and smile, “with who?”

“His name is Samandriel, he’s in my Ethics class. He’s really nice, and funny. Although, not as funny as Uriel, he’s the funniest guy in our class,” Castiel mumbles, sensing Dean’s uncomfortable.

“Sounds good,” Dean lies, tearing his eyes away from Castiel, turning his back towards him to clean the glasses that came straight out of the dishwasher. The other man hums in agreement. Dean doesn’t feel tears stinging behind his eyelids, not at all. Of course Castiel has the right to date, they’re not a thing, never has been, never will be. Of course he’ll try and create a functional relationship with someone that didn’t bully him for four years, and then pushed his way back into his life. Castiel deserves better than that, and if this Samandriel can give that to him, Dean is happy. Or, well, not completely miserable.

“I- uh, I should get going, I have a paper to finish,” Castiel says from the other side of the bar and Dean nods.

“Yeah, talk to you later,” he replies, doesn’t turn around. He can’t watch Castiel walk out those doors, knowing that it’s the last time he’ll see him before all of his chances are ruined. So he does what he does best, he avoids the situation and crouches down to sort the cider bottles in the small refrigerator. He doesn’t hear Castiel move for a few seconds, obviously waiting for something more, but when Dean doesn’t speak he hears Castiel sigh and then the doors closing softly behind him. Dean stands up just in time to see a beige trench coat disappear down the street and he bangs his fist on the bar.

“Fuck, fuck, fucking shit,” he all but screams, tears welling up. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to be friends for years, and then someday Castiel would realize and then they’d be together always. Of course he knows that isn’t even remotely possible, but he can dream.

His mood affects the tipping that night, and he earns a lot less than he usually does on a busy night. The levee breaks when he drops a bottle of vodka on the floor, crashing to pieces, drenching him in alcohol. Ellen ushers him into their small backroom and gets him new clothes, old and torn, and asks him to just go home and sleep. He nods, feeling lifeless as he climbs into his car, driving the familiar way home. He falls asleep thinking of chapped lips kissing pink, unfamiliar lips, Castiel moaning Samandriel’s name, hands pushing through unfamiliar hair, gripping at an unfamiliar shirt.

* * *

 

The next day isn’t better than the previous. He hasn’t really slept, the hot water isn’t really working and he’s out of coffee. He sighs and drags his ass over to Bobby’s, helping him with the Taurus they got in two days earlier, nothing difficult, just fixing a crooked steering gear, but he can’t really focus, and when Bobby has asked him about the wrench for the third time he just looks confused at him, handing his boss a screwdriver. Bobby sighs and rises from his crouched position over the hood.

“So, kid, what with the mopey-face?”

“I- what? No, nothing, I just had a really bad morning,” Dean excuses, eyes flickering up to the ceiling and back. He’s great at lying, really he is, but not when it comes to Bobby. It’s like the man can see right through him and just dig out the information he wants anyway. He’s just polite when he’s asking. He’s always been like that, right from when Dean was a kid and lied about their dad feeding them properly, buying them clothes or books, when in reality he was teaching Dean how to shoot and did nothing but fight with Sammy.

“Bullshit!”

Dean sighs, it’s never that easy. He knows it isn’t. Never has been.

“You know Cas?” he begins and Bobby nods so he continues: “Well, he has a date today and I guess it feels like crap. You happy now, when I’ve gone all ‘In Treatment’ on you?”

“The heck is ‘In Treatment’? Doesn’t matter anyhow. Now, either get over it or do something about it. It’s no good moping around for all eternity. Alright?” Bobby says, trying to sound stern, but his eyes give away softness. Ask him and he’ll deny it, but Dean’s seen it enough times, especially since his father died. Dean nods and Bobby claps in on his shoulder before returning to work.

“Now, hand me that wrench idjit.”


	5. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red is the color of energy, passion, action, ambition and determination. It is also the color of anger and sexual passion.

Two weeks later Castiel is present at the next movie night, where season three of Buffy is currently running. Dean wouldn’t admit it, but he cried during _I Only Have Eyes For You_ and _Becoming: Part 2_ during their last move night. Charlie noticed, but she didn’t say anything. She’s too busy cuddling with Jo anyway.

During _Band Candy_ Castiel pulls up his phone and starts texting, giggling when he gets a reply. Dean tries to focus on Giles and Joyce and Principal Snyder behaving like teens, gorging on cursed chocolate, but it’s hard, Castiel’s screen flashing in the corner of his eye. When Castiel actually laughs out loud he snaps.

“What’s so funny?” he says, sounding harsher than he’d wanted. Castiel looks up at him from his place on the floor with wide blue eyes.

“Nothing, it’s just Samandriel. He’s at work, and they haven’t got a lot of customers right now, so he sends me pictures,” Castiel replies, holding up his phone for the other’s to see. A young man, a boy really, spots still visible on his face; dressed in a Wiener Hut outfit is smiling towards the viewer, showing of a nice smile and white teeth. He looks cute. Dammit. Castiel and a cute guy with a Wiener Hut cap, won’t that make a lovely wedding photo?

“He’s really cute, Cas,” Charlie says, casting a glance at Dean when she speaks, quickly looking away when she sees the storm brewing beneath the surface of green eyes. Jo hums in agreement before turning back to the TV. She’s always had a secret crush on Willow. Or well, not so secret anymore, now that she’s got her own real life red-head hacker girl cuddling her.

Castiel puts away his phone and doesn’t touch it for the rest of the night, focusing on the corruption of Faith and the plot line with Angel coming back from hell. During _Lover’s Walk_ they both turn rigid during the scene where Spike’s explaining Buffy’s and Angel’s relationship.

_“You’re not friends. You’ll never be friends. You’ll be in love till it kills you both. You’ll fight and you’ll shag and you’ll hate each other till it makes you quiver, but you’ll never be friends. Love isn’t brains, children, it’s blood. Blood screaming inside you to work its will. I may be love’s bitch, but at least I’m man enough to admit it.”_

Dean coughs and excuses himself, going to grab another beer. He sighs and leans back against the refrigerator. Crap. There’s no way in hell that he’ll be able to pull this off. Faking happiness for Castiel when all he wants it to just admit to the world that he loves him. Smiling at pictures of Samandriel, funny, kind, smart Samandriel. _Fuck_. He won’t even be able to glue a fake smile on his face just for the rest of the night.

He walks back out to the living room; the episode paused as they wait for his return, the picture frozen just when Angel and Buffy looks at each other, realizing that Spike’s probably right. It’s always been all or nothing when it comes to their relationship. Perhaps it’s the same way with him and Castiel. All or nothing. A committed relationship or nothing at all.

“I have a headache,” he says and rubs the back of his neck, feeling Castiel trace the movement with his eyes. He remembers what Castiel told him about that gesture being used when Dean’s uncomfortable, so he drops his hand, letting it dangle by his side.

“So, I’m gonna take a walk,” he continues, placing the half empty beer bottle on the living room table and retreating back to the door, “just slam the door behind you if you leave before I come back,” he yells and then he’s out. He hears a faint ‘Dean’ sounding a lot like Castiel, but he ignores it and walks away, doing what he does best once again.

* * *

 

He walks for hours, thinking, not thinking, and then thinking some more. The thinking has led to the following conclusions: 1 – he really loves Castiel. 2  ̶  Castiel is now with Samandriel, a guy that’s not Dean. 3 – Castiel seems happy with the guy that’s not Dean. 4 – Dean can’t go on like this. 5 – that means he has to tell Castiel how he feels. 6 – that’s scaring the shit out of him. 7 – Dean is in love with Castiel.

When he gets home it’s the middle of the night and the apartment is dark and silent. He breathes out; he was expecting three caring faces greeting him at the door, asking what’s wrong, how they can help.

He kicks off his shoes and hangs his leather jacket on a hook, turning the lights on in the living room before moving on towards the kitchen. He turns the lights on, reaching for the handle of the refrigerator, but it falls to his side when he sees Castiel sitting on the floor, his head in his hands, sobbing. Instantly he forgets about his list. How could he be so selfish? Castiel needs him, and he’s going to be there regardless. No matter how much it’s going to hurt.

“Hey, Cas, look at me, what’s wrong?”

Castiel just shakes his head and hugs his knees tighter, a sob escaping. Dean sits down next to him, pulling him in close. They sit like that for minutes before Dean tries again.

“Is it something with Samandriel? Has he-?” Castiel nods, and then shakes his head. He shrugs and burrows his head into Dean’s shirt, wetting it with tears. Dean’s cradles him against his chest and allows him to just cry.

They don’t speak. They just sit there quietly, the only sounds being the occasional sobs from Castiel, sobs that are breaking Dean’s heart. No one should make him feel like that, not ever. When Castiel finally speaks his voice breaks on the first word, and he tries again.

“I- I tried so hard, Dean. I tried so hard to not fall for you again. I really did, but there you were, sweet and nice and funny and perfect and I just couldn’t help myself.”

Dean listens quietly, barely breathing, the hand that was stroking up and down Castiel’s back going still.

“I tried with Samandriel, to see if it was just something I could forget. And then yesterday when I met him he tried to kiss me. And I thought that I really wanted to kiss him, but all I could think was ‘it’s not Dean, it’s not _him_ , it’s not Dean’. And I hate you for making me feel like this. I hate that you make me love you and I hate that I let myself fall for you all over again,” Castiel continues, voice barely noticeable between sobs and hiccoughs.

“Cas-“ Dean says, swallowing, feeling his throat constrict around the nickname. It was his fault that Castiel felt bad, again. He had promised himself to never make Castiel feel like this, but it keeps happening, over and over again.

“Dean, I love you, I think I always have and that I always will,” Castiel interrupts. They still won’t look at each other, Dean’s head resting against the wall, eyes looking up at the ceiling, and Castiel’s hiding in Dean’s shirt.

“I love you too, Cas,” Dean whispers, pulling Castiel even closer, “and I’m sorry. For everything.” Castiel sobs again and his hand clenches in Dean’s shirt, pulling Dean down towards him. He lifts his head to finally look at Dean, his blue eyes framed by wet lashes and eyelids red from crying, nose sniveling and his mouth almost smiling.

“I know,” Castiel says and sits up, facing Dean, leaning in, their breaths mixing, “Dean, can I kiss you?” Dean only nods, one hand cupping Castiel’s cheek before leaning in to meet Castiel’s lips halfway. Their noses brush and Dean feels the tears. When their lips finally meet it’s not like fireworks or an explosion. It’s like a warm, secure blanket, safe and familiar. Dean can taste Castiel’s tears on his lips, hands working to dry away those that insist on still coming.

When they break away they stay silent again, just breathing knowing that the other is there, feeling the warmth radiating from the other. Castiel leans his head on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean wraps his arms around Castiel again. Dean can’t really think about what this means right now. What it means now, what it will mean tomorrow and if it’s even going to happen. He just pulls Castiel closer and presses a kiss into dark locks, mumbling ‘I love you’s over and over again.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a thing for Bond and Buffy. Perhaps it shows... It'll show even more. At least the Bond thing...


	6. Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yellow is the color of the mind and the intellect. It is optimistic and cheerful.

The next morning, when Dean finds Castiel asleep in his bed, cuddled up against him, is awkward. They hadn’t actually _done_ anything, just moved in silence from the kitchen floor to the bed and fallen asleep together. But what now? Do they talk? Or just pretend it’s all sunshine and kittens, making pancakes together? Is there a standard procedure in cases like this? Where your former bully victim loves you and you love them back? After said person cried their heart out telling you they loved you, hating that they do. What can you possibly say?

Castiel stirs next to him and he chances a look down at messy, dark hair, and he can’t help but smile when Castiel yawns and rubs his eyes. He looks away again, says nothing, and doesn’t move, giving Castiel space to remember, to assess, and to decide. Decide if this is actually worth giving a shot or if they should just give up before they’ve even started. Like it’s doomed from the very beginning, which in Dean’s opinion it sort of is. Once again, all or nothing.

“Dean,” a sleepy, gravelly voice says from somewhere by his shoulder and he finally turns his head back to look at Castiel again. He looks perfect. Blue eyes tired, with red marks on his cheek from Dean’s shirt, hair mussed and lips chapped, as always. All Dean wants is to lean down and kiss him, but he doesn’t. Space. Castiel probably needs space.

“Dean, I love you,” Castiel says, eyes locked on Dean’s, forcing him to not look away. The smaller man puts one hand on Dean’s cheek, stroking away persistent tear drops, smiling faintly. Castiel sighs and returns to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder, circling his arms around Dean’s waist. Feeling reassured, Dean speaks.

“So, uh, what now? I mean, where do we go from here?”

Castiel stays silent for a while, drawing circles on Dean’s chest with slender fingers. Dean revels in the sensations of having Castiel so close, smelling him, feeling and hearing him breathe right next to him, seeing the lazy patterns across his chest as Castiel muses.

“I guess we need to talk. But no matter how we’re going to do this I want you to know that I don’t regret anything, nothing from last night, not this, nothing when it comes to you,” Castiel whispers, blue eyes kept firmly on his own fingers, following every movement.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes out and nods, “me too.”

They stay in bed a while longer before getting up, not bothering to change into new clothes. They eat breakfast in silence, but this time it’s not awkward, it’s calming. They eat, chew, drink, smile when their hands brush reaching for the cheese, blushing when they both pull away. Dean does the dishes, humming along to the songs playing on the radio while Castiel borrows a spare toothbrush.

Suddenly the silence is broken by a ringing phone and Castiel scrambles to find it in his pockets, toothbrush hanging out from the corner of his mouth. Dean still has his back turned towards Castiel but he tenses as he listens.

“Yes, hi, Samandriel. Yes, I remember that we agreed to meet today. No, I’m a bit preoccupied, I’m sorry, I’ll be a bit late. Of course, I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”

He hears Castiel sigh as the call is ended, but he doesn’t say anything, just continues with the dishes. If Castiel notices the dirty water splattering all over the place he doesn’t mention it.

“Dean, I-“ Castiel begins when Dean has but one plate left, “I need to meet Samandriel. I think he deserves an explanation face to face. We can talk when I get back?”

Dean just nods, brush moving around in angry circles on the now clean plate. Of course Samandriel deserves an explanation face to face, the poor kid probably needs some sort of comfort or something. Of course Castiel should go, but Dean feels a stab to his guts when he thinks about Castiel leaving before he’d had the chance to talk. What if Castiel realizes that Samandriel is so much better than Dean can ever wish to be? That what he really needs is someone young and carefree, a clean slate, someone like the Wiener Hut guy? So all Dean does is nod, refusing to look over his shoulder.

“I’ll be back soon, Dean, I promise,” he hears a voice say, much closer than he’d imagined, and he feels arms wrapping around him. He sighs, puts the plate and brush down and turns around in Castiel’s arms. He nods again, this time more honestly. Castiel smiles weakly at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before moving away, closing the door behind him as he leaves.

* * *

 

He waits and waits for Castiel to return. His stomach is churning. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he remembers what he said the previous night, that he hates that Dean is making Castiel love him? What if Castiel decides that the hate is stronger than the love? Then their whole friendship is ruined, and Dean will have nothing. Castiel will have Samandriel, and Dean will be alone again.

Dean reaches for the bottle of Scotch he has hidden on the top shelf, but stops mid-way. He knows Castiel doesn’t like it when he drinks. To be honest, he doesn’t like it himself, it reminds him too much about his dad. But the old man was right, nothing to drench sorrows like a bottle o’ Scotch. But no. There aren’t any sorrows to drench just yet. And if, no when, Castiel returns, he needs to be sober for the conversation they’re about to have.

When Castiel returns the sky has grown darker, heavy rain drops falling on the windows, sounding louder and louder for each one. Dean is sitting on the couch, staring at the grey rain, falling from a grey sky, hitting grey windows, trying to find a silver lining. Castiel sits down next to him, blanket wrapped around him, shivering from the cold. He doesn’t say anything.

They sit there a while longer, before Castiel’s shivering feet nestles underneath Dean’s thighs, seeking warmth. Dean turns to look at Castiel who shrugs apologetically. That’s when they break, laughter erupting, tears streaming down their faces from lack of oxygen. Castiel is beautiful when he laughs. He doesn’t laugh with all his body like Dean does, he just smiles wide, eyes crinkling, a dark rumble making its way out from behind white teeth.

“S-so, what- what did Wiener Hut say?” Dean says when he’s caught his breath, shoulders still shaking a bit. Castiel laughs at the nickname given to poor Samandriel.

“He said that he understood. And that he already knew. Apparently all I’d talked about on out last date was you,” Castiel says, not laughing anymore, blushing instead. Dean’s laughter also ebbs out and his smile turns soft.

“Is that so?”

Castiel nods, still shivering, pulling the blanket harder around him. Dean gestures for him to come closer, and he isn’t unwilling to cuddle up against a warm body. Dean pulls him in close, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s hairline, causing Castiel to sigh and cuddle up even closer, if possible. He removes his feet from where they were underneath Dean and instead lays his legs over Dean’s, feet digging into the cushion by the armrest.

“We need to take it slow,” Castiel says quietly, looking up at Dean from underneath dark lashes. Dean hums in agreement. “And I didn’t really mean what I said last night. That I hate you for making me love you again. I could never hate you, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes soften, and he presses another kiss to Castiel’s hairline, mumbling into dark hair.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be ready to have sex. If I’ll ever be,” Castiel continues, eyes darting from Dean’s eyes and quickly away again, “I know that’s important to you, so if you want to you could find someo-“

“Stop right there. Cas, look at me,” Dean interrupts, putting one finger underneath Castiel’s chin, turning his head to look at Dean, “All I care about is you, alright? I haven’t had sex since we met, because of you. If I’ve managed that long, I think it’s fine. What’s important is this,” he says and gestures back and forth between them, “us. I don’t want anyone else, and I don’t want to do something you’re not comfortable with, okay? I’m not expecting something from you, sexually I mean. Alright?”

Castiel blinks away treacherous tears and nods. He smiles weakly and presses his lips against Dean’s, finally. Dean’s head spins into over drive, and he treads his fingers in unruly hair, pulling Castiel closer. They break the kiss, just to dive right back in. Dean licks at Castiel’s bottom lip experimentally, moaning when Castiel gasps and lets him in. He licks into Castiel’s mouth, smiling when he feels Castiel climbing further into his lap, knees framing Dean’s thighs, hands winding into his hair. He breaks the kiss and nibbles along Castiel’s jawline, beneath his ear, pressing kisses to his neck.

“Dean-?”

“Mhm?” Dean says between kisses, feeling Castiel shiver when he nibbles at his ear.

“I- I think that- sex doesn’t sound so bad after all. No- oh, oh- not today, but- yes- someday,” Castiel gasps, head thrown back, giving Dean better access. Dean chuckles against Castiel’s ear, flicking it with his tongue, eliciting a moan from Castiel.

“Dean?”

“Yes, Cas?”

“I love you,” Castiel whispers, turning his head to look down at Dean, cheeks flushed and pupils wide. He rolls his hips, as if on instinct, and gasps when he feels the outline of Dean pressing up against him.

“I love you too, Cas,” Dean says, reaching up with one hand to bring Castiel down, pressing lips against lips once more, “but if we don’t stop soon, I think we’ll be crossing the no-sex line pretty soon.”

“Oh,” Castiel mumbles and blushes as he climbs off Dean’s lap. Dean chuckles again and pulls Castiel in for another kiss.

“No offense, it was awesome, but perhaps we should keep it cool for a while? I don’t want to rush into this, we have all the time in the world.”

“Did you just pull a Bond on me?” Castiel asks, eyes narrowing as he looks up at Dean. Obviously he remembers when Dean made them watch all the Bond films during two weekends.

“Uh, no?” he tries, smiling.

“At least you should have picked another one. She dies at the end Dean, not very romantic.” Castiel says and rolls his eyes. When did Castiel out-nerd Dean?

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Should I sing ‘For Your Eyes Only’ instead? Or perhaps ‘All Time High’?”

“Oh no, please don’t, I don’t think-“

“We’re an all time high, we’ll change all that’s gone before, doing so much moooore, than falling in looove. On an all time hiiiigh, we’ll take on the world and win. So hold on tight, let the flight begiiiin. So hold on tight, let the flight begiiin. We’re an aaaaall time hiiiiiiiigh.” Dean sings at the top of his lungs, voice breaking on the high notes, Castiel shaking with laughter, holding his hands over his ears.

“No, please stop, no, Dean, poor Rita Coolidge, please stop,” he pleads, covering Dean’s mouth with one of his hands. Dean laughs and stops, kissing Castiel’s palm.

“Alright, hold on,” he says, rising from the couch to his shelf with CD’s, pulling out the ‘Bond, James Bond… Greatest Hits’ and inserting it in the player. He skips to Rita Coolidge, and hums along to the soundtrack to Octopussy. He lip-syncs this time instead, moving closer to Castiel, pulling him up from the couch and flush against him, swaying from side to side.

_“All I wanted was a sweet distraction for an hour or two. Had no intention to do the things we’ve done. Funny how it always goes with love, when you don’t look, you find. But then we’re two of a kind, we move as one.”_

Dean locks his eyes on Castiel’s as he lip-syncs the lyrics. Castiel blushes but doesn’t look away.

_“I don’t want to waste a waking moment; I don’t want to sleep. I’m in so strong and so deep, and so are you. In my time I’ve said these words before, but now I realize my heart was telling me lies, for you they’re true.”_

They sway together, pressed against each other, Castiel’s head resting on Dean’s shoulder. The song ends and Dean nuzzles Castiel’s cheek with his nose.

“Cas, I love you,” he mumbles. He feels Castiel smile against his shoulder as they continue swaying, doesn’t mind that the song currently playing is ‘A View to a Kill’.

* * *

 

When Castiel leaves later that night they’re both feeling giggly and bubbling. Dean can’t remember when he last felt like that, if he ever has.

They’re standing by the door, Castiel’s arms around Dean’s neck, Dean’s around the smaller man’s waist.

“You don’t have to leave,” Dean pleads, even if Castiel already has explained three times that he has work at the home on Sundays and that he needs his own clothes. The first time Dean had just shrugged and said that he had clothes Castiel could borrow. The second time he had pressed pleading kisses to Castiel’s lips. The third time he had sighed and mumbled a ‘yeah, I know’.

“Dean, you know I need to. I’ll talk to you soon, alright?” Castiel says, trying to sound reassuring, but Dean has felt his resistance weaken for each time Dean pleads, so it comes out as more of a request.

“It’s just hard to let you go, now that we finally-“ Dean gets interrupted by a press of lips against his, a whispered ‘Love you’ and then Castiel is gone, the door closing behind him. Dean sighs and rests his back against the wall, gliding down slowly until he’s sitting down. The taste of Castiel’s lips are still lingering on his, the feeling of slender hands on his arms not quite gone, Castiel’s smell on his shirt making him dizzy. He smiles and rests his head against the wall. That worked out quite nicely after all.

* * *

 

It’s been a long time since he’s talked to Sam, and the guilt is eating him up. Perhaps finally admitting to Castiel how he feels is a good conversation opener? He globs down the last of his dinner and turns on his computer, logging onto Skype while he chews.

“Ew, Dean, _my God_ , you don’t actually have to fit the _whole_ pizza slice in your mouth at once,” Sam exclaims when he answers the call and Dean shrugs apologetically, mouth full of pepperoni pizza.

“’m sowwy, I-“ Dean says around the pizza, making Sam do a gagging sound.

“Jeez, Dean, just stop it. When you’re done you can tell me all about Castiel. I can’t believe I get to hear it from _Jo_ of all people,” Sam says, Dean almost choking on his pizza. What? How does Jo know? It happened, like, last night? Charlie hadn’t installed spy software and cameras, right? She would… He swallows the last of his pizza.

“The fuck, dude? It happened yesterday, _after_ she and Charlie left, how-?”

“Apparently you’ve both been painfully obvious these last few weeks. And last night something happened I heard, you saw something and-“ Sam says and Dean rolls his eyes. Damn girls (and Sammy) with their emotional superpowers.

“Alright, yes, we’re together now, you happy?” Dean says grumpily, huffing as he crosses his arms. Sam just laughs.

“Yes, actually I am, you two will be good for each other,” his not-so-little brother says and smiles honestly, turning his head to look at someone standing outside of the camera shot, “and Jess agrees.”

“Turn me around, I want to see her,” Dean demands, leaning forwards, smiling when Jess’ head pops up, covering Sam’s face in blonde curls.

“Hi, Dean! Congratulations, Castiel is really great, and cute” she says and beams, and Dean can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, he is,” he says, blushing slightly. Jessica just smiles back at him, bursting out in laughter when Sam pulls her down into his lap.

“Hey, Sam, stop that, you know I’m ticklish-“ she yells, trying to nestle out of Sam’s iron grip around her waist. Dean smiles at the screen, they’re really perfect for each other. More perfect than he and Castiel will ever be, they don’t have awkward history, they don’t have people judging them, they don’t seem to have any troubles.

“I’ll leave you kids two it,” he says, and Sam and Jessica stills on the other side of America.

“Dean, are you sure? Don’t you want to talk?” Sam asks, turning on his puppy eyes.

“I think I’ve filled my chick-flick quota for the year, thanks Sammy,” Dean says and Jess giggles at Sam’s annoyed face, “Talk to you soon?”

“Yes, of course, any time, Dean.”

“Bye, Samantha!” Dean smirks as Jessica rises her eyebrows at the nickname, and Sam sends a death glare across the country.

“Jerk!”

“Bitch!”

Dean logs off of Skype and turns of his computer. Life really is great, he thinks, he’s finally told Castiel, his brother is happy, Castiel is happy, hell, even he himself is happy. He spins around in his chair and picks up the empty pizza carton from the floor, making a beeline for the pie waiting on the kitchen counter. 


	7. Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pink is unconditional love and nurturing. Pink can also be immature, silly and girlish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for fluff!

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asks a few weeks after their first weekend as a couple. Castiel is sitting on the couch, Dean’s head in his lap, reading something for his Bible Study class. Not out loud though, but Dean is actually thankful, it doesn’t sound extremely interesting. Or, well, Castiel can make everything sound interesting. Castiel hums as a sign that he’s listening, still not looking away from the book.

“I was thinking, and we haven’t gone on a date yet. Like a real date, dinner and a movie, fancy restaurant, looking at the stars, whatever. Would- would you like to go on a date with me?” Dean rambles, forcing the words out, cursing his own sappiness. He’s not romantic, not at all. Sam says he is, but nope. Damn Sam’s chick flicks for giving him ideas.

“What?” Castiel says, finally putting his book down, looking down at Dean. “Why do we need to go on a date? We already know each other, we’re already together, I don’t really see the point.”

“Nevermind, I just-“ Dean begins, and blushes as Castiel looks at him curiously, tilting his head.

“Just what, Dean?” Castiel prods.

“I- You said that you’d never had had a relationship. So I just wanted to make sure you got the whole package, dates and all. But yeah, you’re right, it was a stupid idea, we’re fine as we are.”

Dean persistently looks away, picking at the dirt and grime underneath his fingernails. It was a stupid idea. Why would Castiel want to go on an awkward date? With Dean in fancy clothes, candles and wine, soft music playing somewhere, sneaking its way into their secluded corner of the restaurant. With a drive home, where Dean blushes as he points to the stars and tells Castiel the stories his mother used to tell about the Angels of Heaven. Why does Dean even want that? Romantic crap.

“Dean? I would love to go on a date with you,” Castiel says, and Dean’s eyes flicker back up to see Castiel’s face above his, smiling down at him. He smiles back and reaches up to kiss his boyfriend, his stomach fluttering.

* * *

 

It’s all ready. Dean has planned this for weeks, even before he and Castiel finally admitted how they felt. He’s got his suit ready, his burgundy tie nicely tied around his neck, shoes polished and hair combed and slick. He feels like a fool. But where they’re going they need to look a bit fancier than torn jeans and AC/DC T-shirts. Unfortunately. Dean is way more comfortable in jeans than in a suit. But even he has to admit that he looks good. Like, really good. He smiles at his reflection in the hallway mirror, before turning off the lights and closing the door.

He had sent Castiel a text telling him to be ready at six o’clock, dressed in his best suit. As Dean pulls up by Castiel’s apartment and kills the engine he takes a few deep breaths, this is it. It’s going to be awkward probably, and Dean is so nervous he thinks he’s going to throw up on Castiel’s doorstep. That would be really awkward, he should better avoid that.

When Castiel opens his door the words on Dean’s tongue are forgotten and all that comes out is a ‘holy shit’.  His boyfriend is dressed in a fitted dark, dark navy suit, crisp white shirt complimented with a cobalt tie. Dean’s hand falls to his side, he had raised it. Why had he raised it? Oh, right, he was going to hug Castiel, right. That’s what you do. You should say hello.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, beating him to it, smiling shyly, blushing, “you look great.”

“Oh, eh, thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself,” Dean smiles, and cringes. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself’, come on, really?

“I mean, you’re beautiful, Cas,” he says, saving the moment. The color on Castiel’s cheeks deepens, and he mumbles a thanks.

“Uh, you ready to go?” Dean asks fiddling with his sleeve, shuffling around in shiny shoes worn only four times, to one prom, one funeral and two graduations. Castiel nods and follows Dean back down to the car.

Other than Sam there’s only really one thing Dean is proud of, and that’s his car. His Baby, as he calls it. A ’67 Chevy Impala, 327 engine, four barrel carburetor. He’s almost one hundred percent certain that Castiel doesn’t understand a single thing about that, but he doesn’t care. The smile on Castiel’s face every time he sees Baby is enough.

“Why do you like my car so much?” Dean asks when they’re strapped in and on their way. Castiel had asked where they’re going, but Dean chose to ignore the question.

“It reminds me of you,” the answer comes simply, like that explains it all. Maybe it does. The car is Dean’s heart and soul.

“How so?” Dean asks anyway, glancing at Castiel whose fingers are stroking along the dashboard.

“All the stories you told me, about your childhood, about Sam, about your father. I feel like through this car I get to know you better.”

Dean hums and turns on the radio, no driving without rock. He quickly shuts it off again when he hears ‘Dust in the Wind’ blaring through the speakers, seeing Castiel tense beside him. Smooth move, couldn’t it have been any other song?

“It’s fine, you can turn it on again,” Castiel whispers, fingers finding the radio, turning it on, “I like to hear you sing.”

Dean looks at him again, smiles faintly and begins to sing along, the words coming easy, just like they always do.

_“Now hang on, nothin’ lasts forever but the earth and sky, it all slips away, and all your money won’t another minute buy. Dust in the wind. All we are is dust in the wind. All we are is dust in the wind. Dust in the wind. Everything is dust in the wind. Everything is dust in the wind.”_

The song tunes out and another begins, and Dean hears Castiel snivel beside him, so he takes an arm and winds it around Castiel, bringing him closer.

“I love you, Cas,” he whispers and pulls into the parking lot of one of the finer restaurants in Lawrence. Castiel nods and wipes his nose on the handkerchief Dean pulls out of his pocket, smiling up at his boyfriend.

“Shall we?” Dean asks, opening the car door and climbing out, holding it open for Castiel to follow. He bows slightly and closes the door behind him, making Castiel giggle. Dean holds out his arm for Castiel to take, and leads the way.

* * *

 

“We’d like to begin with two glasses of champagne,” Dean says to the waitress, eyes not on her but on Castiel, who only smiles back.

“Certainly, sir. Shall I bring you the menus now or would you like to wait?” the woman asks, smiling fondly at them.

“Hmm? Oh, now will be fine, thank you,” Dean replies, flashing her a smile, which she returns as she nods and walks away.

Castiel’s blue eyes sparkle in the candle lit room, one hand reaching out to hold Dean’s across the table. Dean’s thumb begins drawing lazy circles on the soft, olive skin, doesn’t stop when the waitress returns with two glasses of champagne and two menus. Dean raises his glass and Castiel does the same.

“Cheers,” Dean says, smiling like an idiot, clinking his glass softly against Castiel’s.

“Cheers, Dean,” Castiel replies, taking a sip of the wine, “this was really good, Dean I-“ he continues before he gets interrupted by a three men walking towards them with a huge cake, two following behind with violins.

“To the happy newlyweds,” one of the men says, smiling at them, “complimentary of the house.”

Castiel looks at them in shock, and then at Dean as Dean erupts in laughter.

“W-we’re not- I’m not married- I think you-“ Castiel stutters to the now confused man, looking at Dean for assistance.

“We’re not the newlyweds you’re looking for,” Dean says to the men and they blush, excusing themselves, moving back towards the kitchen, the oldest of the men hissing the others.

“Really, Dean? Did you just paraphrase Star Wars? Think of the poor couple that’s sitting somewhere here, seeing their cake going to us, I-“ Castiel scolds, but Dean’s laughter interrupts him again, so he gives up and joins in the laughter.

They smile at each other, still giggling when the embarrassed waitress comes up to them again.

“I’m so sorry, I thought- You just look so- I apologize,” she mumbles, giving an apologetic smile.

“No problem, no harm done, we’re not married quite yet” Dean reassures, smiling back at her. She relaxes visibly and picks up her notepad.

“So, have you gentlemen decided on anything yet?” she asks, looking at them both expectantly. Dean’s eyes quickly scans the menu, he hadn’t even glanced at it.

“I’ll take the _spiny lobster_ as an entrée and the _coq au vin_ as a main,” Castiel says, smiling at the waitress.

“Certainly, sir. And you, sir?” she says, turning to Dean, who’s looking with wide eyes at Castiel.

“Eh, I’ll take the same,” he says absentmindedly, not really knowing what he just ordered. The heck is coq au vin? Sounds obscene.

“May I suggest a lighter, dry white wine to the entrée and a more fruity red wine to the main? I’d recommend the French Pierre Sparr, a very nice Pinot Gris to the lobster and the Italian il Conte to the coq au vin.”

“Sounds fantastic,” Dean says, not really paying attention, eyes still locked with Castiel’s, hands linked together again. She nods and disappears again. Castiel is studying Dean’s face so intently, Dean thinks he must be counting freckles. One night the previous week he had actually done just that, he’d gotten to twenty before Dean ran out of patience and convinced him that kissing was better.

“Apparently we act like newlyweds,” Castiel says after a while, very matter-of-factly. Dean blushes. He kind of feels like one too.

“Did you mean it?” Castiel asks when Dean doesn’t say anything, frowning down at their linked hands.

“Did I mean what?” Dean replies, digging through his brain, what had he said? Was Castiel upset?

“Did you mean it when you said ‘we’re not married quite yet’? I mean, do you want to- sometime, with someone?” Castiel mumbles down at the white tablecloth, blushing furiously, looking like he’s beating himself up for even analyzing what Dean said.

“Oh,” Dean breathes out, relaxing, “I guess. I’ve always wanted a family and kids. I just haven’t found the right person.”

“Of course,” Castiel replies, sounding a bit cold. What did he say this time?

“No, no, don’t get me wrong, Cas,” Dean apologizes when he understands, “I love you, I just think that perhaps we need a bit more time than three weeks as a couple before making grand plans, you know? But I’d love to, someday.”

Castiel sighs and relaxes a little bit, even if a bit of tension is visible in his squared shoulders.

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t a fair question” Castiel says, looking up at Dean, “I just- I have been waiting for this day for almost nine years, Dean. And now I finally have it, I finally have you, and it’s so much better than I could ever imagine, and I guess I start making assumptions, as I’m almost nine years ahead of you in this relationship.” He smiles weakly at Dean when Dean lifts his hand from the table to kiss it.

“I can’t believe I’ve missed out on nine years of this,” Dean replies, smiling back, kissing Castiel’s hand once more. He tangles his feet with Castiel’s beneath the table, making Castiel smile.

“Better late than never,” Castiel says and lets one foot travel up along Dean’s leg, to his knee and back down, at the same time as he hugs Dean’s hand with his reassuringly.

* * *

 

The food is amazing, the wine is expensive, and the music is French. Castiel shows off and tells Dean that what they’re listening to is actually the wife of the former president in France, Carla Bruni, and he loosely translates some of the lyrics for Dean. Dean laughs when Castiel tries to translate the song ‘Le Pingouin’.

“It’s basically about a penguin. And-“ Castiel says, turning silent to listen every now and then, “apparently it has studied latin... And it’s an ugly penguin. She doesn’t like it very much... And it’s rude, it has no manners it seems. Oh, it’s a narcissist as well. She prefers cats.”

“Now you’re just making this up,” Dean laughs at Castiel’s translation, and at his boyfriends frowning face as he tries to understand.

“No, I assure you, it seems like a horrid penguin. As far as penguins so. I have no personal experience. I’m not sure this is really about a penguin anyway, Dean. But I also prefer cats.” Castiel replies, still frowning. Dean laughs again, quite loud this time, earning a glare from one of the other waiters.

“I’ll make sure to remember that,” Dean whispers, leaning in over the table. Castiel smiles, the frown disappearing as he meets Dean halfway, kissing him chastely.

* * *

 

When Dean has paid, refusing to split the bill with Castiel, they go back to the car, the chilly autumn air making their noses and ears red, and Castiel’s shivering again.

“You really need a bit more fat, you’re always cold,” Dean says, hugging him tightly against his chest as he digs around his pockets for his car keys. Castiel burrows into Dean’s embrace, cold nose pressed against Dean’s neck. He grumbles something sounding like ‘that’s why I always wish for sweaters at Christmas’ and Dean chuckles, leaning Castiel against the car, unlocking it. He doesn’t move to open the door just yet, only frames Castiel’s body with his arms, shielding him from the cold. He peppers kisses along Castiel’s hairline, smiling when Castiel gasps at the nibble on his ear.

“Dean. This doesn’t help. The metal of the car is freezing my ass of, let me in,” Castiel pleads, squirming away. Dean laughs at Castiel’s crude choice of words.

“Well, we can’t have that, I happen to be rather fond of your ass,” Dean says seriously, earning an eye-roll from Castiel as he opens the door, allowing Castiel to climb in before following.

They drive in silence to their next destination, this one also a secret, for a while before Castiel speaks up.

“Have you really been looking at my ass?”

“Hmm,” Dean muses, “of course I have. You have an amazing ass, it would be a sin not to look at it. Especially since I’m your boyfriend.”

“Oh,” is all Castiel replies, turning silent, staring out the window. A couple of minutes pass before Castiel speaks again.

“In that case, I need to make sure to look at your ass more. I haven’t really. But I’m sure it’s a lovely ass,” he states, sounding very serious. Dean laughs again, he does that a lot when Castiel’s around. He hasn’t really laughed this much since before Sam moved to California.

* * *

 

He pulls into a parking lot for the second time that night, and once again he opens the door for his date. His mother didn’t raise some damn hobo, he’s got his manners. Castiel looks at him questioningly, the parking lot is empty and dark, the only thing nearby is an old dance studio, dim lights streaming out the windows.

“Dean-“ Castiel begins, but Dean just shushes him, locks the car and leads him towards the studio. He crouches down to find the keys underneath a flower pot, and unlocks the heavy door to reveal an empty room, one single light burning in one corner. He takes his hands and covers Castiel’s eyes with them, leading his boyfriend to the middle of the room.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers into Castiel’s ear as he removes his hands. Castiel does what he’s told, but his hands grip after Dean when he moves to leave. Dean places a reassuring kiss on his lips.

“I’ll be right back, don’t move,” he whispers before moving to turn on the lights. He prays that Charlie and Jo had time to fix everything. He turns on the lights and gasps, sending a mental thanks to the girls that they pulled it off. The room is bathing in golden light from small lights bonded together in some sort of net, draped over the walls, and the ceiling. Flowers are thread through the holes in the net, white, red, pink, rose leaves shattered across the floor. He turns to look at Castiel again, and his breath catches when he sees his boyfriend standing in the middle of the room, eyes closed, skin glowing in the soft light. He has never seen anything more beautiful than this.

“Dean?” Castiel asks, turning towards where he thinks Dean is.

“Coming,” Dean says, plugging in his phone with the speakers, pressing play, ‘We Have All the Time in the World’ playing softly in the background. He moves to stand in front of Castiel again.

“You can look now,” he whispers, his nervousness shining through. This is just cheesy, who does things like this? Castiel probably won’t lik-

“Dean, it’s amazing,” Castiel breathes out as he opens his eyes, looking around the room, eyes falling on Dean again, “you’re amazing.”

“May I?” Dean asks, holding his hands out, asking for a dance. Castiel blushes and nods, one hand resting on Dean’s shoulder, the other grasping Dean’s tightly. Dean takes his free hand and wraps it around his boyfriend’s waist, bringing him in close. He begins to sway, resting his forehead on Castiel’s, looking into blue eyes.

“I don’t deserve this,” Castiel whispers as the song tunes out and ‘For Your Eyes Only’ begins.

“Cas, you deserve so much more than this,” Dean whispers back, reaching up to kiss the shorter man’s forehead, “and I’m sorry it’s not until now I can give this to you. This is your prom, I- I wanted to give you a prom, you said you didn’t go to any during high school, so I-“

He’s interrupted by smiling lips against his, and a hot tongue tracing his lower lip. He smiles back into the kiss before opening up, letting Castiel kiss him breathless.  His boyfriend surely learns quickly. Castiel nibbles at his bottom lip before biting slightly at his chin, smiling when Dean gasps.

“Now who’s been watching Bond?” he says, trying to sound amused but failing when he feels hot lips ghosting behind his ear.

“Need to know basis only,” Castiel jokes and Dean wants to laugh, but his mind can’t really connect the dots right now, too occupied thinking about hot lips on his neck, on his ear, on his lips.

He cups Castiel’s face with his hands and pulls away, smiling with newly kissed lips.

“Hey, it’s only our first date, might want to keep it low Tiger,” he says, pecking at his boyfriend’s lips when said boyfriends rolls his eyes.

“Screw that,” Castiel grumbles and kisses Dean reverently, returning to their dancing, now to the tunes of ‘I See the Light’.

“This song is nice,” Castiel says after a while, speaking into Dean’s shoulder on which is head is resting, “which film is this from?” Crap, he had already figured out the movie theme.

“Uh, I don’t remember,” Dean lies, hoping that Castiel believes him. But of course he doesn’t.

“Strange, I could swear I heard you singing it in the shower two days ago,” Castiel muses.

“Alright, it’s from ‘Tangled’, the princess Disney movie,” Dean mumbles, blushing when Castiel turns his head to look at him.

“Oh, now I remember, Charlie made us watch it,” Castiel says, eyes sparkling with amusement, “or perhaps you had made her convince us,” he muses.

“Yes, I did, shut up now, please.”

“I think that you and Rapunzel look quite a like to be honest. Really cute,” Castiel continues, ignoring Dean’s deepening blush, “you just have a tad shorter hair.”

“’A tad’? Really? But wait, if I’m Rapunzel, does that mean that you’re Flynn Rider?” Dean asks, looking smug, “Because I could live with that.”

“Actually, I think his name is Eugene Fitzherbert, if I remember correctly,” Castiel replies seriously, “and yes, that would be the right conclusion.”

Dean chuckles and presses another kiss to Castiel’s lips.

“As long as you don’t have a chameleon somewhere…”

* * *

 

The date goes perfectly; they dance all night long to ‘Come What May’, ‘Edelweiss’ and ‘You Are My Lucky Star’. During the last song, ‘Let Me Be Your Wings’ Castiel looks at Dean with wonder in his teary eyes as Dean sings along.

_“Let me be your wings, let me be your only love. Let me take you far beyond the stars. Let me be your wings, let me lift you high above. Everything we’re dreaming of will soon be ours. Anything that you desire, anything at all. Every day I’ll take you higher, and I’ll never let you fall.”_

“Let me be your wings, Cas,” Dean whispers, stroking away Castiel’s tears.

“Always, Dean.”

* * *

 

Dean drops Castiel off at home with a kiss by the door, nothing more than that to Castiel’s dismay, and still so after an explanation that it’s actually their first date, even if they’ve already bent the rules.

He drives home with butterflies fluttering in his stomach, never has he felt what he feels now. He meant what he said; he wants to be Castiel’s wings, even more so after remembering Castiel’s heartbreaking poem about their high school years. He doesn’t want to be Castiel’s wings, no, he _needs_ to be Castiel’s wings, since he was the one taking them from him in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, alright, add Disney and Don Bluth to the list as well. Comments?


	8. Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orange is the color of social communication and optimism. From a negative color meaning it is also a sign of pessimism and superficiality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about this...

“Cas?” Dean says one night, Castiel sitting opposite him by the kitchen table, mindlessly eating his noodles and wok as he’s reading his new book on Islam. Castiel doesn’t answer, doesn’t look up from his book. Dean pokes his foot at him under the table. No reaction. He does it again. There, a flicker in Castiel’s eyes. But he still doesn’t say anything. Dean pokes a third time and Castiel sighs.

“What, Dean?”

“I- uh- I was just thinking about- I was wondering-“ Dean stutters, blushing under Castiel’s firm gaze, “Never mind.” Castiel’s eyes soften and his foot tangles with Dean’s, urging him to speak.

“When did you know?” Dean asks, looking down his bowl of wok instead of at Castiel. He’s actually pretty satisfied, he’d been able to find this miso-paste that adds more flavor, and some color as well. And he got the chicken perfect this time.

“I know a lot of things Dean, you have to be more specific,” Castiel states seriously and Dean looks up, only to see humor in Castiel’s eyes.

“You ass, shut up, I’m actually trying to be a bit serious here,” Dean says, trying to sound irritated, but smiles at Castiel’s attempt at a joke.

“I’m sorry, Dean, please go on.”

“I meant, when did you know you liked guys?” Dean asks, once again looking down, picking at a leftover carrot slice, sliding it around in the bowl. Round and round and round and-

“When I saw you,” Castiel says simply, like the answer is obvious. Maybe it is, Castiel did love him nine years ago, and does now, and said that he’d never let himself love again, or being loved. So, perhaps he is Castiel’s first and only? The thought makes him smile, even if the feeling is bittersweet. Castiel deserves to have more people love him, to be honest, Dean can’t understand how anyone couldn’t love his boyfriend. His shy smiles, the passion in his eyes when he debates about ethics or religion, the way he laughs to jokes no one else understands, that he’s always insisting on wearing that damn trench coat. He is simply perfect.

“Me?” is all Dean can say. He does that, think a lot and say very little. Or, when he doesn’t think a lot, he says more. It’s actually irritating; it would be easier were it the other way around.

“Well, I’d always known that I didn’t like girls in the same way as other boys do. I just didn’t think that much about it. And then I began thinking that perhaps I liked boys instead? And then, first day of freshman year I saw you, and I knew,” Castiel continues, foot stroking along Dean’s reassuringly.

“Oh,” Dean says, smiling goofily. He can’t even remember the first day of their freshman year. He probably got wasted that night.

“And you?” Castiel asks, sounding almost pleading, and Dean looks up to face his boyfriend, the carrot still sloshing around in the bowl.

“I- The night we first kissed,” he says, watching Castiel stiffen before relaxing, “that’s when I knew that I could never find someone else that could make me feel like I do now. After that night, and after graduation, when my dad died, I began thinking. And yeah, I realized that guys are pretty nice. I guess I’ve always thought about it, but I shoved it away, because-”

“Because you saw what they did to me,” Castiel says quietly, his turn this time to avert his gaze.

“Yeah,” Dean says softly and curses himself internally. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to be interested and ask questions about his boyfriend, not make him sad. Dammit.

“Dean? I- You know that I’m not angry anymore, right? High school is hell for everyone and-“

“Oh, no, don’t start. You should still be angry! I almost had you killed, you can’t possibly be okay with that, even if it’s been five years, Cas,” Dean interrupts, getting irritated. Why couldn’t he just have shut up in the first place?

“You didn’t have me hurt myself. _I_ hurt myself _over_ you, and you weren’t worth it. I realize that now. But you’re a different person now, and so am I. So, no, I’m not angry Dean. I loved you then, but perhaps I shouldn’t have, and I love you now, and perhaps I shouldn’t do that either, but frankly I just don’t care anymore, because I know I can make it through hell and come out in one piece, so I’m going to let myself love and be loved again. No matter what you say,” Castiel says calmly, like he’s thought about this many times, as he looks up at Dean, smiling at him.

“I- I love you too, Cas,” Dean replies, words getting stuck in his throat. He suddenly realizes that Castiel is stronger than he’ll ever be, he don’t know what he would have done if their places had been switched in high school. If he had been kissed and then beaten by the one he loved, bullied for four years, made fun of, excluded and helpless. He probably would’ve tried to kill himself sooner than Castiel had.

“I know, Dean,” Castiel says and puts his hand on Dean’s cheek, reaching over the table to kiss his forehead, “I know.”

* * *

 

The weeks following are bliss, all rainbows and kittens and unicorns and whatever. They talk, they kiss, they go on more dates, and they fall asleep together on the sofa during what’s left of the Buffy marathon, earning them angry glares from Charlie when she wakes them up.

It’s on their tenth date (no, Dean doesn’t count, who does that?) that something comes along to disturb their peace. They’re walking to the car from the cinema, having seen the latest Marvel film, per Castiel’s request. Dean just suspects he has a thing for Captain America, but then again, who doesn’t? They’re holding hands, cuddled together as they walk, sharing body heat in the cold November night. Right when Dean is in the middle of an excited explanation about the special effects he hears someone yell at them from behind.

“Hey, faggots, not in public,” a man yells at them, sounding a bit slurred. Dean feels Castiel tense beside him, but they continue walking.

“Hey, cocksuckers, I said-“ the man continues and Dean spins around, facing the man standing a couple of yards away, accompanied by his five large friends.

“I heard you the first time,” Dean all but spits, moving closer to the man, stopped only by Castiel’s arm on his. He turns around to look at his boyfriend who looks terrified.

“Dean, please, he’s not worth it, let’s just go,” Castiel pleads, dragging him away. Dean sighs and agrees, fighting won’t do anyone anything good. He wraps his arm protective around Castiel again and begins walking away. They don’t come very far before Dean feels something hard hit his back, followed by something hitting the side of Castiel’s face. He turns to look at Castiel, who’s got a look of surprise on his face, blood trickling down from his hairline. The glass bottle rolls away into the shadows.

“Told ya you shoulda stopped, faggots” the man slurs from behind, and that’s it. Dean throws himself at the other man, fists landing repeatedly on the man’s face, and he doesn’t stop until he hears a nose cracking. He rises from where they’d fallen to the ground, wiping his bloody hands on his jeans, looking around at the man’s friends.

“Anyone else?” he asks, venom in his voice. They all shake their heads and he leaves, returning to his bleeding boyfriend.

“Cas, hey, look at me, man, you okay?” he asks, his worry increasing as he sees Castiel’s eyelids fluttering shut over glassy eyes.

“Mhm, it’s just, my head, it hurts,” Castiel mumbles. Dean nods and pulls of Castiel’s scarf, pressing it against the wound.

“Crap, I mean, I’m going to take you the ER, okay? Let’s just get to the car first,” Dean says, trying to keep the panics out of his voice when he feels Castiel going limp against him, “whatever you do, Cas, listen to me, do not fall asleep, stay awake for me, alright angel?” He feels more than hears Castiel agree, a weak nod against his shoulder.

When they finally reach the car Dean’s hands are bloody, the wound bleeding through the scarf. He lays Castiel down in the backseat, repeating a mantra to himself.

“Head wounds always bleed a lot, they always do, it’s fine, he’ll be fine, it’s nothing.”

Castiel laughs slightly from the backseat when Dean climbs into the car, turning on the engine.

“Your head looks funny from here, it’s so- so- what do you say? It’s so big,” Castiel chuckles, wincing when his head bumps into the upholstery.

“Cas? You remember what I said, don’t fall asleep now, alright?” Dean pleads, eyes kept firmly on the road. Castiel hums, good enough. At least he isn’t out like a candle.

* * *

 

The drive to the ER is the longest in Dean’s life. He knows it’s only ten minutes or so, but it feels like days. Castiel slurs in the backseat, mixing crying with laughter and Dean does his best not to panic. Only a head wound, not a deep cut or anything. He hadn’t heard a cracking sound. Or had he? He can’t remember. All he remembers is getting hit in the back by something hard, and seconds after seeing something brown and shiny hit Castiel’s face, the comical look on Castiel’s face would be funny hadn’t it been for the reason.

“Could I get a hand?” he yells as they stumble through the doors, two nurses hurrying to help him.

“Sir, what happened?” one of them asks, helping Dean sit down, searching his face for injuries. She sees his bloody knuckles, but says nothing.

“I- This man came at us, threw bottles at us, and one of them hit Cas. Is he going to be okay?” Dean says, eyes pleading, wishing that the nurse will lie and tell him that yes of course he will.

“I don’t know yet,” she says instead, and Dean respects her honesty, but damn, he would pay millions to hear someone lie right now.

“Alright,” he says, hearing his own voice sounding distant, ringing in his ears. Interesting.

“I’m going to make one phone call and then I’ll be right back to take a look on your hands, okay?” she says, her eyes searching his for affirmation. He nods and looks down at his hands. Wow, he hadn’t known they could look so beat up. He had only punched a couple of times, right? They had begun bruising and a small swelling was slowly making itself known. He flexed his fingers, wincing at the pain.

He looks around the ER, small children crying, old people coughing, one guy with his shoulder wrapped up. He sees but he doesn’t really notice, doesn’t really care. All he cares about is Castiel, who he can’t see, no matter how many times he looks. He sighs and closes his eyes at the tears stinging. Why couldn’t they just be happy? Things were perfect, Dean had everything he could wish for. The only thing they hadn’t done was to have sex. Dean blinks away more tears. What if Castiel dies without experiencing that? Without having Dean worship his body, kissing along the scars on his arms, caused by Dean himself, without Dean moving inside him, bringing him to completion. Dean wipes away those stupid tears. He has better things to think about than the fact that they haven’t had sex.

“Hi, again,” the nurse says, crouching down next to him, “I’m Rachel. Would you like to follow me..?”

“Dean Winchester,” he says, filling in the missing part.

“Alright, Dean, I’ll help you with your hands,” Rachel says and smiles. He tries to smile back, but he doesn’t think it’s working. She positions him on a chair by a small table and sits down opposite him. She takes his hands in hers, gently removing the dirt, wiping away the blood.

“So, you going to tell me what happened?” she asks after a while.

“I did. The guy yelled after us, and we ignored it and tried to leave, but then he began throwing things. And when I saw- when one hit Cas I just flipped and jumped him,” he said, looking at her, expecting her to be judgmental.

“You really love him, don’t you?” she says instead of scolding him and Dean’s eyes widen in surprise, but he nods.

“Yeah, I do. So much it hurts sometimes.”

“I know the feeling,” she says, looking back down at Dean’s hands, removing the ice she’d placed there minutes earlier, “keep this on a while, okay?” He nods.

“I- We’ve had it rough, we had a really crappy start,” Dean says, feeling the need to talk, to pour his heart out to someone, “and now we’re finally happy and now this- I- I can’t lose him now, not because of this.”

“You want me to go check on him?” Rachel asks. He nods again. “Alright, I can do that, but after that you’re gonna need to help me fill out your papers, is that okay Dean?” He nods once more. She leaves and he sits still, staring at his numb, cold fingers, wishing the rest of him could feel as numb.

The tears are burning behind his closed eyelids again, and he wishes Rachel won’t come back to tell him. He can’t take bad news, not now. He should call someone. Charlie? Jo? Didn’t Castiel mention a cousin or something, Gabriel? He should definitely call Gabriel. But he should wait until Rachel returns. Which he doesn’t want her to. Because she could bring bad news, right. His mind is spinning with questions and none of them in his power to answer.

“Dean?” he hears Rachel say and he looks up at her. She’s smiling. Weird. Nurses shouldn’t smile when loved ones die. That’s rude.

“Yeah?” he croaks.

“He’s going to be fine, he got a severe concussion and seven stiches, but he’ll be perfectly fine in a couple of weeks,” she says, smiling down at him. New tears blur his vision as he rises to hug her, whispering a thank you.

“Can I see him?” he asks with pleading eyes and Rachel sighs.

“He’s asleep now, and should be for the next couple of days probably, even if we’re gonna have to wake him every third hour or so these first days. And it’s way past visiting hours. But I guess we still have that paperwork to fill out? That can be done in Castiel’s room,” she says, smiling when he hugs her again.

She leads the way through corridors all looking the same, nurses passing all looking the same. All he cares about is Castiel. She finally stops outside a single bed room, curtains drawn shut. She opens the door to reveal the single bed, one light in the corner shining weakly. Castiel lies perfectly still with tubes in his nose, head wrapped in bandages, one large white pad over his left side.

“Oh angel,” Dean says, sitting on the chair next to the bed, taking one of Castiel’s hands in his, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry Cas, I promised that no one should ever hurt you again, but I failed and now-“

He feels a light hand on his shoulder, and he looks up at Rachel again. She smiles weakly at him. How does she have the strength to constantly smile at relatives and partners that are in grief or shock, crying or screaming? Dean admires her, she’s stronger than she is. But she sees things like this every day, he doesn’t. And it’s not her lover that’s lying unconscious in a bed with his head wrapped up.

“I’ll come back with the papers later, okay? Perhaps I’ll have Sheriff Mills with me, alright? She’s gonna want to know what happened,” Rachel says softly and Dean nods.

“Yeah, of course.” Dean smiles back at her, or at least he’s trying. Perhaps this time he’s succeeding.

He turns back to Castiel when she leaves, closing the door behind her softly. He kisses Castiel’s hand, tears dripping down, but he doesn’t care.

“It’s my fault, I could’ve parked closer to the cinema, you said that I should but I didn’t- Cas, if you hear me? I love you, I love you so much it hurts, alright? You know that right? So I can’t lose you. I would ask you to wake up, but Rachel says that sleeping is good for you right now, so uh, don’t wake up. Not yet. But soon, okay? Because I need you.”

He falls asleep hunched over Castiel, hands still wrapped around his boyfriend’s. He doesn’t wake up until early next morning when Rachel comes in, gently stirring him awake.

“Dean? My shift is ending now, and if someone finds you in here they’re going to make you leave. I’m sorry, but could you come back with me, so can I set you up with those papers we talked about and then with the Sheriff?”

“Yeah, right, let me just-“ he says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Castiel’s forehead, “I’ll be back soon, okay?” he whispers before following Rachel out the door.

* * *

 

The papers are easy enough to fill in, and the Sheriff is an old friend of Bobby, so she’s cool. Now all he wants is to go home and crash. Before he leaves he remembers one question he should probably ask.

“Are you gonna do something about me?”

“What about you, Dean?” Sheriff Mills asks.

“I mean, I kinda beat the other guy up pretty bad, isn’t he like, pressing charges or something?” Dean says, feeling the nervousness increase. He hadn’t really allowed himself to think about that.

“No, he’s not, he’s admitted that he was under the influence of alcohol and some illegal drug I can’t even remember the name of, and he has admitted that he was the one initiating the fight. So no, you can just go home, Dean. I’ll call you if I need you,” the Sheriff says, looking tired. She’s been working all night long after getting an ID on the guy from one of his friends, taking their statements and then the guy’s, Alastair or something like that? Dean doesn’t really care. He thought that he would, but honestly? All he feels now is exhaustion and happiness that Castiel is going to be fine.

* * *

 

Before he crashes on his couch he digs through Castiel’s bag, left since before their date, to find a number to Gabriel. Castiel is going to be alright, but he’ll probably still want to know anyway. He finds Gabriel’s number in Castiel’s calendar and sends him a quick text, roughly explaining the situation. When he’s returning Castiel’s calendar to the bag one single piece of paper falls out. He knows he shouldn’t look, he’s really not the prying kind of guy.

He unfolds the paper and reads the headline. ‘White Feathers on White Wings’. A bell rings somewhere, but he can’t really place it, so he goes on reading.

_“White feathers on strong wings, growing, covering, living. White feathers on white wings arching towards the blue sky, reaching, touching, moving. White feathers on white wings rustling, caressing, embracing the wind. Bloody hands combing through white feathers on white wings, lovingly and affectionate. White feathers on white wings stroking away tears from blue eyes, wiping away blood from bloody hands. White feathers on white wings folding, embracing, caressing a broken body. White feathers on white wings rising towards the sky, brining bloody hands and blue eyes with them. White wings and blue eyes feeling joy, feeling joy, feeling freedom, feeling completion, no longer dust in the wind”_

He smiles at Castiel’s poem, the date scribbled down on the corner the day of their first official date. Dean falls asleep with the paper in his hand, after reading it three more times. 


	9. Brown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brown is a friendly yet serious, down-to-earth color that relates to security, protection, comfort and material wealth.

Gabriel flies in from New York two days after, and Castiel wakes up the day after that. He looks confusedly around, seeing Dean and Gabriel standing together on the other side of the room, talking in hushed voices.

“Dean?” he croaks, voice breaking, unused for days. Dean’s head snaps up, turning towards Castiel.

“I’m here, Cas,” Dean says, hurrying to his side, ready with a glass of water, which Castiel gladly accepts.

“How’re ya feelin’ kiddo?” Gabriel asks, moving closer to the bed, sitting down at the end.

“Dizzy,” Castiel replies firmly, like it’s the only thing he’s sure of. Gabriel laughs and Dean smiles at Castiel’s frowning face.

“I would be too if I had a boyfriend as hot as yours,” Gabriel states, making Dean blush and Castiel scowl, “No, but honestly, this one’s a keeper Cassie, he cares a lot about you, he hasn’t really shut up about you,” he continues, glancing at Dean who’s smiling faintly, “it’s been kinda annoying to be honest. Cassie this, Cassie that, Cassie is perfect, blah, blah, blah.”

“Shut up, Gabe, you’re ruining the moment,” Dean says jokingly, still smiling, eyes locked on Castiel’s.

“Alright, there’s too much eye-sex going on in this room, and as much as I appreciate sex this is just awkward,” Gabriel says when Dean and Castiel doesn’t look away, doesn’t pay attention to anyone but each other. Dean hums and Castiel frowns a bit again, but doesn’t look away from Dean. Gabriel sighs and leaves, muttering something about ‘young love’.

“So, you talked about me?” Castiel asks when the door closes.

“Of course,” Dean replies, leaning forward to kiss his boyfriend, “how could I not?” Castiel blushes and winces when he reaches up to meet Dean halfway. Dean leans down the rest of the way instead and presses a gentle kiss to Castiel’s lips.

“How are you feeling?” he asks when he moves away.

“Nauseous, dizzy. My head is hurting. What happened?”

“Some dick hit you in the head with a bottle, giving you a concussion and seven stiches, but you’re gonna be just fine,” Dean says, parroting Rachel. Or kind of. She didn’t say anything about dicks.

“Oh,” Castiel says, eyes flickering down, noticing Dean’s hands, “did he hurt you too?”

“Uh, no. I kinda hurt him? I swear Cas, when I saw that you were bleeding I just lost it, I just-“ Dean answers, eyes asking forgiveness for his actions. Castiel takes Dean’s hands in his.

“I’m fine Dean, I’m here,” Castiel whispers, kissing Dean’s bruised knuckles.

“I know- I was so afraid, Cas, I’ve never been so afraid. I thought I was gonna lose you and I- I love you, Cas, so, so much.”

“I love you too, Dean, more than anything,” Castiel whispers against Dean’s hands, kissing them again. Dean leans forward, again, kissing Castiel, their tears mixing.

* * *

 

Dean spends the days with Castiel, reading out loud to him, talking, or just staying silent. Gabriel stays for three more days, but his work is calling, and Castiel being in no immediate danger he thinks it’s safe to return to New York. When he comes to say goodbye Dean is reading from one of Castiel’s favorite books, ‘The Puzzle of God’.

“We all know what a unicorn is. If we met one walking down our local High Street we would recognize it. We might of course have some doubts whether it was a real unicorn. We might well suspect that it was a trick of some sort, and might imagine that what we saw was a horse with a spiral horn somehow grafted onto its forehead. However-“

“Unicorns? Really? Could you _be_ more gay?” Gabriel exclaims from his place by the door, Dean looking up and rolling his eyes. Castiel’s is closed, but were they open, he’d surely roll his as well.

“He compares the concept of God to that of a unicorn. It’s quite interesting,” Castiel says from his bed.

“I’m sure,” Gabriel chuckles, “I came to say bye for now, I’m going back to the big apple now, Cassie.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, opening one eye to look at his cousin who is shuffling awkwardly. He was never one for goodbyes.

“I guess I’ll see you at Christmas then,” Gabriel says, looking down at his feet, “You know, I’ve missed you, Cassie. It’s been a long time. We should talk more. You’re the only sane person in our family, well, besides me.”

“Are you one of the sane ones?” Dean exclaims from his corner and Gabriel looks at him annoyed.

“Now you’re the one destroying the moment. Let me say goodbye to my dear cousin,” Gabriel hisses, turning back to Castiel, “as I was saying, give me a call sometimes? I miss talking to you.”

“Of course, I’ve missed you too Gabriel,” Castiel replies, smiling at the blond. He reaches one arm to take Gabriel’s hand in his and squeezing it. Gabriel smiles at his cousin and squeezes back before moving towards Dean, giving him a hug.

“Take care of him now, alright? Hurt him and I’ll kill you,” he says quietly, hoping Castiel won’t hear.

“Stop muttering Gabriel and just leave already,” Castiel groans.

“I promise, if I hurt him, or get him hurt, one more time I-“ Dean whispers back to Gabriel who nods approvingly.

“Good. Bye, Dean, I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you.”

* * *

 

The following week passes quickly. Castiel can’t really eat a lot, and he can’t read or watch TV, but he’s fine enough to go home.

“So, you want us to stay at my place or yours?” Dean asks as they’ve discharged Castiel and they’re walking out to the car together with Rachel. Or, Dean is walking and Castiel is grumpy, sitting in a wheelchair.

“I can live on my own, Dean, you don’t have to-“

“Yes, actually I do, doctor’s orders. But even if I didn’t have to I’d want to. So, where are we going?” Dean insists, helping his boyfriend into the car, out of the wheelchair, which he gives to Rachel.

“Your place,” Castiel grumbles and Rachel laughs.

“You two take care now, alright? Call me if there’s a problem, and remember to change the pad over the stiches every third day, okay? And no physical activity for another three weeks. And stay off the TV.” she says, giving them a small wave, smiling.

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” Dean says and she laughs again, waving as they drive home.

* * *

 

When they’re finally home, Dean leads Castiel straight to the couch, setting him down before returning to fetch the bags from the car.

He drops the bags in the hallway, toeing off his shoes and shrugging out of his jacket, before joining his boyfriend on the couch.

“Dean? What is this?” Castiel asks, holding up a piece of paper.

“I’m sorry, I- It fell out of your bag when I was looking for Gabe’s number and- Sorry, I shouldn’t have-“

“What did you think?” Castiel interrupts, looking at Dean expectantly.

“What? I- I loved it, Cas,” Dean says honestly, placing one hand on Castiel’s cheek, thumb stroking over his cheekbone, “It’s from after our first date, right?”

“Yes, I- that’s when I really knew that I could never find someone like you, Dean. You are my wings,” Castiel whispers, looking at Dean from beneath his eyelashes. Dean smiles and leans in to kiss Castiel, and all of a sudden he has a lapful of his boyfriend, who’s kissing him with a seemingly endless energy that has him moaning in seconds. He lets himself get carried away for a minute before his hands tangle in dark hair, finding the patched up area.

“C-Cas,” he mumbles against Castiel’s lips, “concussion, remember?” Castiel groans and breaks away, resting his forehead on Dean’s.

“Yeah, I know. But Dean-“ he pleads, grinding his hips down, making Dean’s breath hitch. Damn, his boyfriend is demanding when he’s grumpy. Usually he wouldn’t complain, but as circumstances are…

“No butts,” Dean says, smiling stupidly at his own pun. He really has been spending too much time with Gabriel these past few days. Castiel huffs and moves off of Dean.

“Maybe I like butts, I like your butt especially,” Castiel replies grumpily, crossing his arms like an angry child. Dean laughs, they’d given Castiel his last dose of medicine right before they left, and it has the tendency to make Castiel adorably grumpy.

“I know you do, angel, but you can _really_ like butts in three weeks. We can wait until then, right?” Dean says, chuckling as Castiel huffs disapprovingly as he scoops his boyfriend up to carry him to the bedroom.

* * *

 

“So, pajamas?” Dean asks, digging through Castiel’s bag, pulling up a blue pair of flannel ones with bumblebees on, looking at Castiel questioningly. Castiel blushes and mutters something under his breath.

“Cas? I can’t really hear-“

“I just said that I’d prefer to wear your clothes,” Castiel grumbles, looking down at his feet stubbornly, strands of black hair falling into his eyes. Dean should really set him up with a hairdresser soon. On the other hand, he likes Castiel’s hair, how it’s always unruly, like he’s just gotten out of bed. So perhaps they can wait a bit longer. Dean chuckles and rummages through his own drawers, finding an old pair of sweatpants and an Alice Cooper T-shirt.

“Can you stand up for me?” he asks gently, taking Castiel’s hand, the other on Castiel’s waist, helping him up from the bed.

“I’m not a child, Dean,” his boyfriend mutters, frowning at the hands holding him steady where he sways.

“I know, sweetheart, but just let me do this okay?” Dean says as he begins to peel Castiel’s shirt off, carefully pulling it over his head, making sure he doesn’t bump into the bandages. Castiel continues to mutter under his breath, but he doesn’t move, allows Dean to help him. Dean crouches down and unbuttons Castiel’s pants, gently lifting one foot at a time, with Castiel’s hands on his shoulders for support, as he pulls them off.

“This wasn’t how I’d imagined it,” Castiel says sadly, looking down at Dean who’s in the process of helping Castiel into the grey sweatpants. Dean looks up, and sees the look in Castiel’s eyes.

“I know, but Cas? We have all the time in the world, remember?” Dean says, smiling as he slowly rises, dragging the pants up along his boyfriend’s legs. He ties the strings loosely and looks up to capture Castiel’s lips in a kiss before snatching the T-shirt from the bed.

“Hands up,” he says, winking. Castiel rolls his eyes, but obliges. He threads his arms through the holes, and Dean helps him with the head, pressing another kiss to Castiel’s lips before moving them back to the bed, lowering him down onto the white sheets, stroking away the hair on Castiel’s forehead and pressing a kiss where his fingers just were.

“I’ll sleep on the couch, just yell if you need me,” he says and kisses Castiel again, moving away before he feels a hand wrap around his wrist. He’s surprisingly strong for looking so weak.

“No, Dean, can you please stay here? It’s your bed after all, and I- I need you,” Castiel pleads around a yawn, tired eyes wide, pleading, head tilted.

“Alright, Cas, let me just brush my teeth, okay?” Castiel nods and mumbles an ‘okay’, letting Dean’s wrist go as he lowers his head back down to the pillows, cuddling up with the sheets.

Dean leaves, quickly brushing his teeth before taking care of his erection. Damn, his boyfriend can really rile him up in two seconds. He comes hot and fast, biting his knuckles, careful to be silent. He looks at his reflection in the mirror. Dean looks so rudely happy; his silly grin won’t ease off. He smiles wider, and his reflection smiles back. Is this how he looks when Castiel looks at him? He sure hopes so, because that’s how he feels. Like he’s on an all time high.

When he comes back from the bathroom he stops in the doorway, taking in the sight of Castiel in his bed, a tuft of black hair peeking out from between the sheets. Dean smiles to himself again, no more like grinning like an idiot actually, because it looks so perfect. Castiel looks like he belongs, like his place in the world in in Dean’s bed, wrapped up in sheets, wearing Dean’s old clothes.

“Dean, stop hovering,” Castiel mumbles, “just come to bed.”

He changes into his pajamas, a second pair of worn sweatpants and an old Metallica T-shirt, and crawls into bed, circling one arm around Castiel’s waist. He presses one kiss to the back of his boyfriend’s neck, nose nuzzling the short black hairs curling at the back. Castiel hums approvingly, resting his hand on top of Dean’s.

“Love you, Cas,” Dean whispers into black curls, waiting for an answer, but Castiel is already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go! Comments and kudos please?


	10. Magenta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magenta, a color of universal harmony and emotional balance. It is spiritual yet practical encouraging common sense and a practical outlook on life.

Three weeks pass quickly, Dean cooking and cleaning and helping Castiel with everything, and then some. Dean’s still reading for Castiel when he gets home from work. He’s made sure that he only works at one place each day, one day at Bobby’s and one at the Roadhouse. Dean had explained to Bobby and Ellen and they had both been very understanding, almost forcing him to stay at home all hours of the day, and not working at all. But it’s kind of nice to be able to pay the rent, so he had convinced them that he could work at least a couple hours each day.

“Dean?” Castiel says while they’re taking a slow walk around the block before dinner, wearing sweaters and scarves. Dean even forced Castiel to wear a beanie and mittens. They had begun walking a week prior, walking a bit longer each day, slowly getting back to normal. They had been back at the ER to have Rachel remove the stiches two days earlier, and it had healed beautifully, only a thin pink line as evidence of what happened.

“Mm?” Dean hums absentmindedly, trying to catch snowflakes with his tongue.

“This is going well, right? I mean, I’m making progress?” Castiel asks, sounding nervous. Dean turns to look at him, missing the biggest snowflake so far, having it landing on his nose instead.

“Yeah, of course you are, Cas, you’re doing great,” Dean states, eyebrows furrowing with worry. What was this about?

“I was thinking- No, it’s stupid, just forget I even said something,” Castiel says, and continues to walk, kicking at the snow falling on his path. He’s stopped by Dean’s hand on his arm.

“It’s not stupid, Cas, I’ll always listen,” Dean says and puts one cold hand on Castiel’s cheek, turning his face to look at him. Castiel’s face is red from the cold, his cheeks and the tip of his nose, and his breath comes out as small huffs, tiny ice crystals dancing in the space between them. Dean smiles encouragingly and Castiel takes a deep breath.

“I want to have sex,” he says quickly, looking down and burrowing his nose in his scarf, only eyes visible. Dean says nothing, just waits for Castiel to continue, “and I think I’m ready. No, I know I’m ready. I thought I couldn’t, not with you,” Dean flinches at his boyfriend’s words but stays silent, “but now I’ve realized that I don’t ever want to do it with someone else, I- I want you to be my first, and- and only. I’m really egoistic, I know that, I’ve kept you waiting for so long and now I just-”

“Hey,” Dean interrupts, leaning down to catch Castiel’s eyes, “you’re not egoistic, alright? God, I if anyone should understand why you’d want to wait, especially with me. I told you, I’m happy to wait, I’ll wait for as long as you need.” Castiel nods, eyes crinkling in a smile, hidden otherwise by the scarf. He reaches up to grab Dean by the jacket and pulls him in to kiss him soundly.

“Can we please go home now?” Castiel mumbles against Dean’s lips, tugging him in the direction of Dean’s apartment. During these last weeks, Dean has stopped thinking about the apartment as his, instead thinking ‘our’. Most of Castiel’s stuff, clothes and a lot of books, are in Dean’s apartment anyway, and he has his own key since earlier. Dean has been on the edge of asking Castiel to move in properly at least three times, but the words just won’t work, he doesn’t know how to say it.

“Home?” he asks, finally finding a window of opportunity.

“Yes, Dean, home, where we _live_ ,” Castiel says, sounding like he’s explaining something easy to a small child, “You know, where we sleep, and eat, and where we’re not currently having sex because you’re talking way too much…”

“Haha, very funny,” Dean says, trying to hide his smile, “I just meant- Home as in _our_ home?”

“Oh,” Castiel breathes out and looks at Dean, expression unreadable. Dean hopes his nervousness isn’t shining through. Perhaps it’s too soon in their relationship? They _have_ lived together for almost a month already, but he’d always known that Castiel would move back to his apartment when he’s feeling fine again. He’s already gotten used to seeing Castiel in his pajamas, shuffling into the kitchen, muttering about coffee, or cuddling on the couch, or eating together. He’s not ready to let that go, not by a long shot.

“My lease is ending on January 1st,” Castiel suddenly says, looking embarrassed, “I was thinking- I mean, we already live together, I don’t have that many things to move… I should have asked you first, but-“

“God, I love you,” Dean exclaims, shutting his boyfriend up with a kiss, lifting him up and spinning him around in the falling snow. Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s neck, leans his head back and laughs up into the darkening winter sky.

* * *

 

They come back home, shivering and sniveling from the cold, shrugging of heavy jackets and pulls of wet scarves. Castiel changes into sweatpants, but keeps the huge knitted sweater, sleeves too long, covering his hands. He sits down in the kitchen, watching as Dean prepares dinner, pasta carbonara, watching Dean hum along to the soft rock coming from the radio.

_“I’m all out of love, I’m so lost without you, I know you were right, believing for so long. I’m all out of love, what am I without you? I can’t be too late to say that I was so wrong.”_

Dean spins around with the pot, using the wooden spoon as a microphone, looking intently at Castiel as he sings along. Castiel laughs and smiles back. Dean doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve to be this happy, the love of his life sitting in his kitchen, looking at him like he’s hung the moon, laughing at his jokes.

When the pasta is finished he sits down opposite his boyfriend, foot stroking along Castiel’s underneath the table. They both smile stupidly and eat their food in silence.

* * *

 

They finish their dinner, and Dean moves to take Castiel’s plate to the sink along with his own.

“No, let’s deal with that later,” Castiel says, reaching out to stop Dean, “Now it’s my time to choose the music.”

He grabs Dean’s hand and pulls him into the living room with a mischievous grin, before stopping abruptly, pressing in close.

“Wait here,” Castiel breathes in Dean’s ear, flicking it with his tongue. Dean shivers, but nods. He sees Castiel move away to the record player in the corner before choosing a CD. He shields the cover with his body from Dean and sneaks the album into the player. Dean is once again struck with the feeling of how domestic this all is. Crap. It is domestic. They’ve actually moved in together. For real. Not because Castiel needed help, or because the apartment is crappy or because Dean needs a roommate to pay the rent. No, they’re actually living together as a couple. Only because they want to. He finds himself smiling goofily when the music starts. Dean Martin, nice.

_“When Marimba Rhythms start to play, dance with me, make me sway. Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more,”_ Castiel dances up to Dean, sneaking his arms around Dean’s neck, swaying as instructed. Dean lets his hands fall to rest on Castiel’s waist, a movement coming so natural it feels like he’s done it since birth.

_“Like a flower bending in the breeze, bend with me, sway with ease. When we dance you have a way with me, stay with me, sway with me,”_ Dean can feel Castiel’s heart beat against his chest, reveling in the feeling of having _his_ Castiel so close, so alive, so perfect.

_“Other dancers may be on the floor, dear, but my eyes will see only you. Only you have the magic technique, when we sway I go weak,”_ They press up even closer, still swaying, like bending flowers or whatever. Had this been with anyone other than Castiel Dean would’ve felt stupid, but this is too amazing to overthink. He’s dancing with Castiel again, just like their first date. He smiles softly at the memory.

_“I can hear the sounds of violins, long before it begins. Make me thrill as only you know how, sway me smooth, sway me now,”_ Dean presses a kiss to the scar on the side of Castiel’s head, feeling Castiel lean into the touch. Their movement stills and the song goes on, but they don’t really care. The shorter man raises his head to look at his boyfriend, smiling lovingly. Dean smiles back, capturing Castiel’s lips in a kiss.

He can feel this time that something is different; Castiel has a new drive, a new fire in his kisses. They were awesome before, of course, but now they’re not only for pleasure or a way to show affection, no, they feel like they’re means to an end. Which, in Dean’s mind, they are. He nibbles at Castiel’s bottom lip, hearing the wonderful sound of Castiel gasping, biting again, wanting to hear the sound. And sure, Castiel gasps again, and Dean soothes the lip with his tongue.

A leg pushes its way in between his and grinds up, which earns Castiel a moan from Dean. The next time Castiel grinds Dean is ready, and meets the movement halfway down, pressing his own leg against Castiel’s groin. Correction, against Castiel’s hard bulge. Dean smiles, it’s almost like riling up a teenager, it’s so easy.

“Dean,” Castiel growls in his ear as he continues to grind, can’t seem to help himself, doesn’t know how to stop, “Bed. Now.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes out and lifts Castiel up, his boyfriend wraps his legs around Dean’s willingly, this time not protesting when being carried into _their_ bedroom and placed on _their_ bed. Dean moves to rise but Castiel pulls him down, crashes their lips together, mumbling something sounding like ‘no, don’t go, I want you here, Dean, Dean, Dean’, but Dean isn’t sure, he’s too busy unbuttoning Castiel’s shirt.

“’m here Cas, ‘m here,” Dean whispers against Castiel’s neck, trailing his fingers down a toned chest, letting his mouth follow in their wake, “let me take care of you.” He unbuttons Castiel’s pants and slides them down lean legs, taking the socks with him, leaving his boyfriend in only his underwear. He smiles at the bulge, grinding down as he reaches up to kiss Castiel again, making Castiel moan into his mouth.

“Dean,” Castiel warns as Dean begins to roll his hips, “you’re wearing too much clothes,” the shorter man begins yanking at Dean’s shirt, sneaking his hands to rub along Dean’s bare back, pushing him down closer against him, “take them off.” Dean complies, what else can he do? The shirt goes first, quickly followed by his pants and socks, leaving him as bare as Castiel.

He presses his naked chest to Castiel’s, finally feeling skin on skin, hitching when Castiel begins to meet the rolls of his hips with his own, stuttering upwards. He places his hands on each side of Castiel’s face, and looks down at his boyfriend. Castiel’s blue eyes are darker with lust and hooded as his hips continue to roll as if he can’t help himself, his cheeks flushed and his mouth open slightly, panting and gasping. Dean has changed his mind; this is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, not Castiel in a suit, not Castiel in his borrowed clothes, not Castiel waking up in the morning. No, like this, completely and utterly _Dean’s_ and his heart swells when he thinks of the fact that he’s the one making Castiel feel like that.

Castiel’s hands fall from Dean’s back, clutching at the sheets, coming up to wind into Dean’s hair. Dean turns his head to kiss a scarred wrist, halting in his movements when he sees all the white lines. He slows down and takes Castiel’s hand in his, saying nothing when Castiel looks at him questioningly. He turns Castiel’s hand in his and begins to kiss the wrist, from bottom to top, all the way to the elbow, loving lips kissing each scar, kissing away hurt and pain, kissing away memories of years past. He kisses up and down the arm two times before taking a pause, kissing away Castiel’s tears, and then moving on to the other arm, giving it the same treatment.

“Dean-“ Castiel all but pleads when he’s nibbling at the soft flesh by Castiel’s elbow, “please.” Dean nods and turns his head to kiss his boyfriend. He licks into Castiel’s mouth as he reaches into Castiel’s boxers, taking out his cock, giving it a few strokes, returning it to full hardness, before pushing the boxers down to knee-height, then doing the same with his.

He breaks the kiss to lick at his hand, slickening it up. Dean reaches down, but Castiel stops him, taking the hand and kissing it, taking two fingers in his mouth, coating them in saliva.

“Jesus, Cas-“ Dean says, hips rolling on instinct, eyes fluttering shut. He forces them open when he hears, and feels, Castiel moan around his fingers. He pulls them out, capturing Castiel’s moan with a kiss, before stroking up and down Castiel’s length, and then his own, taking his hand around them both, making them glide smoothly in the tunnel of his fingers.

“Yes, Dean, Dean, I love- I love you,” Castiel says as Dean begins rocking, Castiel rocking with him, urging him to go faster. Dean smiles, he keeps forgetting that it’s Castiel’s first time. He can’t really believe he’s lasted even this long to be honest. He complies, feeling the warmth in his stomach growing already anyway, and moves faster, harder.

“Uh-huh, keep- keep going, Dean,” Castiel urges and he moves with him, sweat slick bodies melting together, hands gripping, searching, chapped lips finding plush lips.

“So beautiful like this, Cas, so perfect, God I love you, I love you so much- hnngh, you’re amazing,” Dean mumbles against Castiel’s lips, and with one final push he feels Castiel turn rigid, muscles locking, back arching up to press against Dean’s chest, white come painting it, sticking between them.

Castiel blinks a few times when his breathing returns to normal, blushing when he sees that Dean is still hard.  He reaches down to put his hand on Dean’s moving it up and down as he looks up at Dean from beneath his eyelashes shyly. Dean shudders, and it doesn’t take long before he’s coming as well, slumping against Castiel, the hand not wrapped around his softening cock searching until it finds Castiel’s free hand, weaving the fingers together.

They lay there for seconds, minutes, hours, before Dean finally rolls off of Castiel, onto his side, bringing Castiel with him, letting him nuzzle in against his chest. Castiel sighs and lets his hand travel across Dean’s chest, feeling the dried come, feeling around a nipple, tracing Dean’s tattoo with one finger. He tangles his legs with Dean’s and they fall asleep like that, covered in sweat and come, tangled together, feeling happier than they’ve ever felt before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was the last chapter. I'll probably try and write time-stamps, especially to the months "missing", wherein their relationship grows. Tell me what you think, about everything and nothing, the chapter titles, the name of the fic, the story, my style and so on. Just, go all in! And thank you for reading if you've read this far!

**Author's Note:**

> The descriptions for each chapter comes from this page: http://www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com/meaning-of-colors.html
> 
> Here is a playlist (Spotify only for now, I'll see if I can get one on 8tracks soon) with the songs featured, and then some more I listened to while writing: http://open.spotify.com/user/1117451057/playlist/5Aa1Fe2GypuhTfEi8ZaV32


End file.
